While She Was Gone
by r4ven3
Summary: Ruth has been in exile for 13 months, and Harry has taken stress leave. Malcolm has a plan for Harry to regain his focus and his self-respect.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: This is a multi-chapter fic of around 11-12 chapters. It begins a bit slowly, but that is just set-up for the rest of the story.**_

_**The first couple of chapters are largely to set up the rest of the story.**_

_**I've rated this M for adult themes – especially in the opening chapter – and some random smut along the way.**_

**oOo**

He woke in a turmoil of stymied emotions and physical release, having dreamed of her again.

He'd woken the same way he had the other mornings she'd entered his dreaming state. In his dreams he'd been searching for her – as always – and he'd wandered through parks, playgrounds, a Tesco's, a Boots, and had finally found her leaning against a low concrete wall next to a monolithic block of flats on a council estate. He'd walked up to her, his heart beating hard against his ribs, ecstatic to have found her after all this time. She'd recognised him, granting him a wide smile as she leaned across to greet him with a kiss. Emboldened, he'd grasped her hand and led her to the underground car park, where he'd continued the kiss, deepened the kiss, then sensing no resistance from her, with both hands he'd lifted her skirt, pulled aside her underwear, and made love to her against the eastern wall of the car park, hidden from sight behind a row of residents' cars. He'd felt her muscles contract around him, and then, unable to hold back any longer, he'd ejaculated. He woke up, his intense orgasm having shocked him into wakefulness. He'd looked around the darkened bedroom to realise he was alone.

Two to three mornings a week, for how many weeks was it now? Too many to count, as the weeks had rolled into months. He did a quick calculation in his head. He had moved to this remote place ten months after they'd said that sad and wretched goodbye to one another by the Thames, and it had now been a little over three months that he had lived here. He lived here alone, but that was nothing new for him. Scarlet, and Ruth's cat Fidget were with him, so he was not completely without company. Scarlet loved the cottage, right on the edge of the moors, spending her doggy days in search of rabbits, and occasionally finding one, and then barking herself silly at it, not knowing that as a dog, technically she had the upper hand. Fidget spent his days either curled up in the middle of the sofa in the living room, under Harry's bed, or curled up on the double bed in the spare bedroom next to his own room.

The dreams hadn't begun right away. It had been around six months after her departure when he'd had the first dream about her. They began slowly – firstly he had them monthly, then fortnightly, then once a week. By the time he took leave from the service and moved to this cottage, he was having the same dream - with variations - anything up to three times a week. The dreams exhausted him. At first they had embarrassed him. He was no longer a teenager, after all. In the dreams – in almost every dream he had had – he was searching for her, looking in abandoned buildings, restaurants, coffee shops, pubs, remote cottages, office buildings, along a deserted beach. He'd call out her name, and then wait for a reply which never came. He generally found her just as he was about to give up looking. Sometimes he found her outside on the street, or at the desk she'd occupied on the Grid. Sometimes he found her wandering down a country lane on her own, or in a corner store waiting in line to be served. Once she was at a service station, about to put petrol in her car, while another time he'd opened his front door to the cottage, where she'd stood with her hand raised, about to knock. The dreams all ended the same way. He'd grasp her hand and ask her to come with him. Her eyes would widen as she recognised him, and she'd lean into him and kiss him gently, her hands on his cheeks, as they had been when she'd kissed him goodbye on the day she'd gone away. He'd take her to a private place – a hotel room, his own house, a remote field in the country, a dark and secluded lane – and he'd make love to her, slowly at first, and then frantically, as though they only had a brief time together before she had to leave. He'd feel his orgasm build within him, and then as he ejaculated, he'd wake up to find that as well as in his dream, he'd ejaculated in real time.

He'd always preferred sleeping naked. He liked how free he felt, how sensuous it was to slide his bare skin against the sheets. He had missed having someone touch his body, he had ached for a connection between her skin and his, so if he wasn't to experience her bare body sliding next to his own, clean sheets against his skin was the next best thing. Except that once he moved to this remote cottage, he began having the dreams more regularly, and so he'd had to wash his sheets as often as three times a week. As well as being inconvenient, his closest neighbours – from the farmhouse just over a mile away – had to drive past his house to get to the village, and he was concerned that they'd notice that he often had sheets drying on the line. It was then that he bought a few extra pairs of track pants, and began wearing them to bed. He'd had to trade the sensuousness of bare skin on sheets for the practicality of the situation. Track pants were easier to wash than sheets. He felt like the fourteen-year-old boy he'd once been, with nightly wet dreams that had stained his clothing and his sheets, his mother knowing, but never saying anything.

Soon after moving to this cottage, he had the idea that regular masturbation might stop the dreams. If he was sexually exhausted before going to sleep, then surely he'd not be able to have the dreams and the unconscious ejaculations. He'd been wrong. Masturbation, even daily, made no difference. The dreams continued unabated. His exhaustion overwhelmed him so totally that he gave up the masturbation.

Harry was not one to visit doctors, and definitely not psychologists and psychiatrists. He'd almost let slip his state of mind when the section psychiatrist had insisted they engage in a word association exercise, and to her prompt `missing' he'd replied `something ….. someone.' He knew what his dreams meant. He didn't need anyone dissecting his mind in search of answers or explanations. Firstly and most obviously, he wasn't getting enough sex. No sex at all wasn't enough. He'd been celibate for three years or more – ever since he'd met her - so that conclusion went without saying. It wasn't as though he couldn't get sex. There were a few likely candidates, women who had propositioned him in the past, or even strangers he'd met in bars, but that would be meaningless sex, and he had moved beyond that. He had made a pact with himself that he would forevermore only engage in sex with a woman whom he loved and valued. That meant that he was only prepared to have sex with _her,_ and she was God-knows-where. Secondly, he missed her. _He missed her._ Missed. Surely there was a more succinct word in the English language to describe the physical yearning which greeted him on waking every day since she'd gone. As he remembered where he was, and where she was, his heart ached at the probability of him never seeing her again. He hadn't cried, although he'd often found himself close to tears – a sad song on the radio, a sudden memory of her, Fidget cleaning himself and then looking up at him as if to say _`where is she?_' He was afraid that were he to allow the tears to come, he'd never be able to stop. Yes, he missed her alright. Thirdly, he longed for her, had wanted to make love to her, but had been thwarted at every attempt he'd made to get closer to her. The dreams told him all of that. The dreams were also expressions of his desperation that he find her and bring her home before it was too late. He could not suppress the powerful feeling that she was in danger, and he believed that within his dreams he was trying to rescue her. Alternatively, he may have been experiencing a knight-in-shining-armour fantasy about her, but he didn't think so. Ever since he had moved to this remote spot on the coast, he could _feel_ the danger she was in, and that feeling was no fantasy.

He just wanted her to come home, but he also knew she couldn't. If he'd known where she was, he would have gone to get her long ago.

.

He'd taken leave from the security service after he'd one day had a meltdown on the Grid. His inner tension had been building for weeks, and then one day it just spilled over into a tantrum which would have done a two-year-old proud. He had learned over time that the best way to deal with grief, pain, or inner turmoil was to suppress it, and then to act his way through it. He hadn't the time to feel it and wallow in it. His job was as much about leadership of his team as it was the constant meetings and the endless PR and arse kissing. As a leader he had to set an example, and mostly that was second nature to him. Since he'd said goodbye to her, he had closed his inner doors to any emotion that was not adrenalin-inducing, and then one day one of those doors had opened very slightly, and the surge of pain from deep inside him frightened even him. It was when he had grasped a glass paper weight from his desk with a view to hurling it at the window which separated his office from the Grid floor that he recognised that it was time he took a break. He hadn't thrown it, but he'd wanted to. He'd stood there behind his desk, the paperweight clutched in his hand, his teeth clenched, his whole body taut, until his breathing had settled. The feeling had shocked him, as he hadn't known he was capable of losing control in that way. He'd initiated taking leave when he recognised the signs that he'd lost complete control over his emotions, and that this may lead to loss of life, even the inevitable loss of his career. It was Malcolm Wynn-Jones who had approached him and suggested he spend his leave at a cottage owned by Malcolm's cousin. Situated not far up the coast from Whitby, the cottage was both remote and close to the sea. It was a perfect spot for Harry to reclaim his life and his soul, if in fact this was possible while the whereabouts of the woman he loved remained unknown to him.

Harry and Malcolm kept in touch by email. Mostly they exchanged pleasantries about the weather, Harry's activities, and the general goings-on in the nation. Malcolm deliberately kept Harry out of the loop where MI5 was concerned. Harry was meant to be resting and de-stressing, and so discussion about the nation's security would only tempt him to thinking about his job, whether it was being done adequately in his absence by Ros Myers, and what information he had which Ros may need. Both Harry and Malcolm knew that to enter into a dialogue about `the job' was not only a bad idea, but it was dangerous to Harry in his current emotional state. Malcolm felt that he was someone who understood Harry's grief, not because he had experienced what Harry was going through, but because Malcolm was an observer of people and of life, and he had been observing his work colleagues on the Grid for as long as he had worked there. As he understood it, Harry had needed to go somewhere he was not faced with life or death decisions – this was too much to expect from him. In Malcolm's estimation, Harry had a need to feel free to vent his feelings, to cry if he could, and to hurt. If he was at all motivated or able, in the isolation of the cottage on the remote North Yorkshire coast, to come up with some kind of solution in relation to the woman he loved, then all the better.

Which was what prompted Malcolm to send an email to Harry in relation to the woman. Since she'd gone – perhaps forever – she'd been a topic of conversation which had remained off-limits. Without even testing the waters, Malcolm knew this to be so. Any reference to her after she'd left had to be done out of Harry's earshot. It was the the throw-away line by Adam: _Where's Ruth when we need her most?_ that had triggered Harry's grasping the paper weight with the intent of launching it at the window. Adam had seen the paperweight in Harry's hand, the flare of emotion in his eyes, and the hard set of his jaw, and had said: _ You're not the only one who misses her, Harry_. Adam's words only added salt to the wounds. Harry had been a man suffering extreme pain, and so in Malcolm's estimation, the solution for Harry was to be in the first instance, isolation from the source of his pain, the constant reminders that she was no longer in his life. In the second instance, after a long period of healing, Malcolm has intended to give Harry the opportunity to again get in touch with Ruth. The time had not yet been right for this to happen, except that the unexpected had happened, and Ruth was potentially in danger. Malcolm was hardly the rescuing-a-fair-maiden type of man ... but Harry was, and while Malcolm regarded Ruth with admiration and respect, Harry loved her with every cell of his being. Harry, as damaged as he was, should be the one to go there and bring her home. It may be necessary to Harry's healing for him to be the one to find her and bring her home.

_From: Malcolm Wynn-Jones_

_To: Harry Pearce_

_Subject: Escape_

_I feel the need to get out of London for a couple of days, so I hope you don't mind if I arrive some time Saturday (19th) afternoon, and stay overnight, travelling back home on Sunday afternoon._

_I have important information which best not be communicated electronically._

_Malcolm_

_._

_From: Harry Pearce_

_To: Malcolm Wynn-Jones_

_Subject: Re: Escape_

_That's fine, Malcolm. I look forward to seeing you again._

_If I'm not home when you get here I may be walking the dog. Feel free to let yourself in. There's a key on the extreme left-hand side of the lintel over the front door._

_Harry_

.


	2. Chapter 2

Saturday arrived, cold and brisk, the air so still it seemed that like him, the day was waiting, holding its breath before the inevitable downpour, so Harry and Scarlet took a long stroll on the moor. He hadn't experienced another rescuing-Ruth dream in the three days since Malcolm had emailed announcing his intention to visit, so his energy was higher than usual. Strangely, he missed having the dreams, even though he'd begun to view them as nightmares more than dreams. The dreams served to punctuate his days and weeks, reminding him of the passage of time. They were not pleasant experiences, and aside from the sexual release, they served little purpose other than to frighten him. Having Ruth so far away from him was bad enough, but her being in possible danger left him feeling powerless and terrified.

They never ventured very far, since Scarlet was a small dog with short legs, and when she got tired she was prone to flopping down and refusing to move. Harry needed the walks, and he'd even bought two pairs of hiking boots, since all the footwear he possessed was only suitable for city living. The walks with Scarlet cleared his head and helped him come to terms with the events which had redirected his life. It had begun when Ruth became fixated on Mik Maudsley's death, but in truth, whatever `it' was, it had begun long before that. There were forces in the security services which were driving to change things in ways that Harry found unacceptable, and at the vanguard of this was Oliver Mace, Chairman of the Joint Intelligence Committee. It was Mace who had framed Ruth as Maudsley's murderer, and it was Mace who had the power to shatter Harry's fragile world. Mace _had_ shattered Harry's fragile world, so much so that Ruth had chosen to leave the country and disappear under an assumed identity rather than allow Harry to go to gaol on her behalf. The real tragedy was that this happened just as he and Ruth were beginning to find their way to one another.

.

As Harry and Scarlet breasted the hill overlooking the cottage and the farmhouse a half a mile away, his face was stung by the cold air off the sea at the same time he noticed a car parked next to the cottage, a late model silver Mercedes. Either he had an unknown visitor, or Malcolm had won the lottery. Harry felt a lift in spirits that surprised him. He picked up his pace so that he could get to the cottage quickly, and Scarlet's trot turned into a doggy gallop as she struggled to keep up.

Harry found Malcolm sitting at the kitchen table with a pot of tea and two mugs.

"I took the liberty, Harry. I hope you don't mind."

The two men approached each other and shook hands.

"It's really good to see you, Malcolm. You can't imagine how lonely it can get here at times."

"Oh, I think I can," Malcolm replied.

An awkwardness sat between them at the table as they sipped their tea. Memories of the last time Harry had been on the Grid still kept a ghostly presence. Malcolm knew Harry was still vulnerable, and he didn't want to tread on sensitive territory.

"Did you know that this cottage was purpose built in the 1830's as a mistress's abode?" Malcolm began.

Harry shook his head.

"The owner of this whole area of land along the coast was a Thomas Edmunds, and on weekends he lived in the farmhouse yonder, and in Stockton-on-Tees during the week. He'd invested heavily in the railways, and made a fortune. His weekend getaway was his little indulgence. He had this cottage built in 1837 for his mistress, Amelia Coulthard, who lived here with her small son until her death in 1871. The son died in childhood. Originally there were trees planted all around it so that Edmunds' wife had no view of the cottage. She knew it was here, of course, and who it was lived here, but …... out of sight, out of mind."

"Sorry, Malcolm, but is this story some kind of metaphor you expect me to unravel?" said Harry.

"I suppose it is a metaphor, but I told you because …... I …... didn't quite know how to get right to the point of my being here."

"And that point would be …...?"

"Ruth." Malcolm said, relieved that Harry had not seen fit to throw his mug of tea across the room.

"You're here because of Ruth?" Harry was suddenly interested, but not angry. On the contrary, it was a relief to utter her name aloud.

"Yes. She could be in a spot of bother, although as far as I know it, she isn't at this time."

"Go on," Harry said, suddenly wary.

"She's being watched …... or she thinks she may be being watched."

"By whom?"

"Shall I begin at the beginning, Harry?"

"Please," Harry replied.

.

"I provided Ruth with three different legends for her to take with her," Malcolm began. "She'd asked specifically that I not divulge these to you."

Harry ran his hand through his hair, now much longer than how he'd worn it while he was working.

"She had her reasons, Harry,"

"I know, I know. It's just not easy hearing you say it," Harry replied.

"She was only ever thinking of you, you know," Malcolm continued. "She knew that were you to know the names she was using, you'd try to find her, and that may put you both in danger."

"Will you at least tell me where she is?" Harry asked quietly, holding in his anger and his frustration at being kept in the dark.

"She spent the first nine months of her exile in Germany," Malcolm said. "Firstly in Bonn, and then in Berlin."

"Yes, but where is she _now_, Malcolm? I'm assuming that you are here now to tell me this."

"All in good time, Harry." Malcolm took a breath before he continued. "It was when she was in Prague that she first sighted someone she'd rather not see again. This is when I heard from her – by encrypted email. I set up a secure email account for her on the day before she left. I've had such an account for some time. It was meant to be for emergencies only, but when she reached Prague she began using it just to make contact. And to ask about you. She seemed very …... lonely, and I think she missed us all, but mostly she missed you."

"The missing worked both ways, Malcolm."

"I know it did. Then after she'd been in Prague a month or so, I got a series of emails from her stating: _Malice Over._ Just those two words, nothing else. At first I thought she meant that she somehow knew that she was free to come home …... that the malice against you both was over. Then it occurred to me – rather late in the piece, I'm embarrassed to say - that `Malice Over' is an anagram for -,"

"Oliver Mace," Harry interrupted. "He's following her?"

"I have no way of knowing that, and nor does she. Understandably, she hasn't approached him, or pursued the subject in any way. His presence may simply be a coincidence. She then moved to Amsterdam. She's always paid cash for her train and air tickets so that her movements couldn't be traced. It was in Amsterdam that she met a young Danish couple who offered their apartment for her to sublet, so she took a train to Copenhagen – that was just over a month ago – and that's where she saw him again."

"Has he seen her?"

"I asked her the same thing, but she doesn't know. But she's not safe there, Harry. She needs to come home. She needs to have protection."

"As soon as possible, I'd say."

"Cotterdam has been buried," Malcolm continued, "and almost everyone involved in the cover-up is either in gaol, or has resigned and left the country. Mik Maudsley's death is now wrapped around our fish and chips."

"They no longer wrap fish and chips in newspaper," Harry stated.

"Metaphorically speaking," Malcolm replied quietly, "It's very likely Mace still wants you, Harry. In his mind, there are books to balance. We have to remain vigilant. You were the one that got away, and besides that, you know too much. It's you are the reason he can't return to the UK. Having his eye on Ruth is intended as a reminder to you that he's not yet finished with you."

Harry contemplated his empty cup before he spoke. "I understand that I'm to travel to – where is she -?"

"The apartment is in Frederiksberg, fifty miles west of Copenhagen. She feels safe there, but if Mace _is_ following her, then it's only a matter of time -"

"This Danish couple – the ones whose apartment she's living in – how does she know they're not …...?"

"She got me to put them through the system for her. They came up clean, but that's not to say they are. Ruth felt comfortable around them, and I trust her instincts."

"I do too," said Harry. "So ….if I understand you correctly, I'm to travel to Denmark and bring her home."

"You're to bring her back here, Harry, to this cottage. You'll both be required to stay here until we're certain there is no threat to you both, but especially to Ruth. And even then, it won't be the end of it. Ruth's right to her own identity will have to be dealt with. I'm not sure she wants to spend the rest of her life as Melanie Glover."

"I'm sure that being Melanie Glover is preferable to her being dead."

"I have to agree with that," Malcolm replied. He sighed heavily before continuing. "Mace is to be set up, and the time frame on that is uncertain." Malcolm ran his fingers around the pattern on his mug before he continued. "It has been found that Mace has developed a penchant for boys, the younger the better. It's one of those open secrets, but is incompatible with a man with power and influence."

"I can see where you're going with this, Malcolm. He's to be set up, but how? Section D are hardly in a position to resource this. There are not enough operatives to send one swanning off to Denmark. That's Six's job."

"It's being contracted out. My cousin Ronnie – who owns this cottage, but rarely uses it – runs a private security firm. He's been asking me to join him for a few years now. I keep turning him down because I like my job." Malcolm smiled. "He has his three sons working for him – Edward, David and Simon. Eddie's the hard man, David's the technical expert, and Simon …... well, Simon is very useful in the field. Simon has unique …... talents. I taught David everything he knows, so I feel my presence would be redundant, and I ….. I don't always approve of the methods they use."

"You don't approve of the methods Section D uses either, Malcolm."

"No, I don't, but at least I know that the section head of Section D is a man of decency and integrity, which is more than I can say about cousin Ronnie."

"Thank you for that compliment, Malcolm."

"Don't mention it. I happen to know that one of the reasons a certain lady loves you is because you're a decent man. It's so very rare in this business, especially nowadays."

Harry looked across the table at Malcolm and smiled weakly. Malcolm was sure he saw the sheen of tears in the other man's eyes. "Cousin Ronnie is keen to firstly entrap Mace – using Simon – and then to collect evidence of his activities. Simon will have a hidden camera with him, and his brother Eddie will be close by as back-up, but mainly to ensure Simon's safety. They're due in Copenhagen tomorrow night."

"That soon? And when am I to go there?"

"As soon as I can get in contact with Ruth." Malcolm replied. "Unless you want to turn up unannounced. I don't wish her to be frightened in any way."

"And you think my turning up will _scare_ her?"

"No," Malcolm replied, "but she's been living a very solitary life since she left Germany, and she probably won't answer the door."

"When were you thinking of contacting her?"

"When I get home tomorrow night. I'll call you when I've sent the email. Then you can drive the Mercedes to Newcastle, and catch the next flight to Copenhagen. Simon should already be in Denmark by the time you get there."

"How old is this Simon?"

"Twenty one. If he dresses and wears his hair just so, he can pass for fourteen."

"He's done this before, I take it."

"Simon? Oh, yes, it's his speciality. He lost his virginity at the age of eleven to a particularly opportunistic games teacher at his public school. The man is a former Olympian, and used his medal to entice boys. Simon's been getting back at men like that ever since. He refuses to be a victim."

"What a world we inhabit," breathed Harry, himself staring out the window at the rain.

"That's why Section D needs you Harry. It's why Ruth needs you, and it's why we all need you."

"No pressure then?"

Malcolm smiled, glancing across the table at his friend. Harry had lost confidence in himself these past months. He'd de-stressed a lot since he'd been away from London, but part of him – his bravado, his can-do attitude – appeared to have diminished. Harry needed a challenge, and bringing Ruth home may be just the challenge he needed. The bringing-her-home would be the easy part. It was the living with her in this cottage until the dust settled which would provide the challenge. Malcolm knew that Ruth had changed, and he wasn't sure how that would wash with Harry.

"The Merc's not yours then, Malcolm."

"Good heavens, no. It's a lovely car, but I could never engage in such obscene displays of …... wealth. The car belongs to Ronnie. He asked me to tell you to not prang it if you can help it. There are fake car registration papers in the glove box in the name of Dr Richard Glover. You and Ruth will be travelling as husband and wife. It seemed easier to do that. Your legend is in my overnight bag. I'll give it to you later so that you can go over it."

The prospect of travelling as Ruth's husband, even for only a day, had set off a whole series of imaginings in Harry which could potentially distract him for the rest of the weekend."The sun must surely be well over the yardarm by now," Harry observed, rising from the table and taking the teapot and mugs to the sink. "Time for a proper drink, Malcolm. Scotch?"

"That would be lovely, Harry, thank you."

.

The two men nibbled at the assortment of of crackers, cheeses, carrot and celery sticks and pâté – all brought by Malcolm – while they sipped their single malt whiskey. Harry had thrown the bottle's cap over his shoulder, symbolising his expectation that they drink the whole bottle before bedtime. The alcohol was loosening their tongues, although to Harry, Malcolm still seemed to be as lucid and as measured as he ever was. Harry, on the other hand, could feel the edges of his mind blurring.

"I wish I hadn't let her go so easily, Malcolm. I feel like such a coward, sending her off into the unknown in that way."

"It happened to Zoe too, Harry. Remember? It's what we do. I create false identities, and you make the decisions. That's how it works."

Harry's speech was still clipped, as it always was, but there was a deep sadness in his eyes. "I wish I'd gone with her. At the very least, I should have gone to gaol so that she could live freely."

"She would never have let you, Harry. Ruth is fiercely loyal. She did what she did so that MI5 could continue to operate, and to do that, it needed you."

"I didn't want that for her. I didn't want any of this."

"None of us did, Harry. We all miss her, but I know you miss her in a different way."

Malcolm watched Harry concentrate on his glass, turning it around with his fingers, his jaw set, the sheen of tears in his eyes. He could see how hard it was for Harry to simply wait until the time was right. He was a man who was tired of waiting.

After a dinner of fried eggs and bacon, the two old friends tumbled into bed, Harry in his room, and Malcolm in the spare room next to his. He'd explained to Malcolm that this room is to be Ruth's when he brings her back to England.

"I shall treat it with due respect, Harry. I know how much she means to you."

Privately, Malcolm wondered why it was Harry was not planning to share his own room with Ruth. He was curious about this, but was not about to pry. The relationship between Harry and Ruth had always bewildered Malcolm by its complexity. As Malcolm saw it, if they loved one another they should be together, not only at work, but at home as well. On the other hand, he had had his own brush with love, and he knew from first-hand experience that love, whilst it should be easy, almost never was. He wished, as he drifted off to sleep, that Harry and Ruth would find a way to one another so that she would never have to sleep in this bed.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Thank you to all who are following this, and to the kind reviewers.**_

_**In this chapter H & R meet again...ahhhh...**_

**oOo**

_Next morning – Sunday: North Yorkshire:_

Harry tipped the contents of the manilla envelope on to the kitchen table. Malcolm, needing to blow out the cobwebs, had taken Scarlet for a walk on to the moor.

All he'd need for his legend was in the envelope – passport, wedding ring, drivers license, credit cards, cash, and the description of his legend - Dr Richard Glover, aged 52, researcher in ancient European languages – _who are they kidding?_ - at Newcastle and Manchester Universities. Hopefully, since this legend is only to be used for one or two days at most, he'll not have to answer any tricky questions about ancient languages.

.

"We're calling it – Adam and I are calling it - Operation Alcestis," Malcolm said as he stepped into the kitchen, Scarlet close at his heels, seemingly pleased to have a new friend to fuss over her. "We - I named it after the wife of King Admetus, who according to Greek mythology, sacrificed herself for her husband, and was rescued by Hercules, no less."

"So …... am I Hercules or the King?" asked Harry.

"I suspect you're both, Harry. The man for whom Ruth sacrificed herself, as well as the one who rescues her."

"That's a bit of a tall order."

"Oh, you've always been more than one man, Harry."

Harry looked up at Malcolm, not sure whether he was being sent up. At this moment in time, Harry believed he was barely even one man. Malcolm's face gave nothing away. "This …... this rescue won't be dangerous, will it?" he said at last, thinking of Ruth more than himself. "I have no wish to put her in further danger."

"It should be as easy as shelling peas," replied Malcolm, making a cup of coffee for himself. "More coffee, Harry?"

"Yes, thank you. This one's cold." Harry pushed his mug across the table towards Malcolm.

Not for the first time in the past eighteen hours, Malcolm felt a pang of concern for Harry. In the past, Harry had only rarely checked things with Malcolm. Harry was the boss, after all. The Harry who sat at this kitchen table was uncertain of himself and his own abilities, and that was something which bothered Malcolm. Perhaps it hadn't been the best idea to send him off to get Ruth, but if it worked, then it could be an opportunity for Harry to reclaim himself. It could also be the opportunity for Harry and Ruth to at last define their relationship, and to consolidate it. Everyone who knew them both could see that they belonged together. Perhaps some time alone would help them to be able to see that for themselves.

_Monday evening – Frederiksberg, Denmark - 7.05pm:_

Harry had (remarkably, he thought) found his way on to Peter Bangs Vej, and into the district of Frederiksberg. After having hired a car at the Copenhagen Airport, he'd thought little beyond getting as quickly as possible to Ruth's apartment, although he'd taken a circuitous route from the airport, all the time checking in his rear view mirror to see if he'd been tailed. He hadn't. She lived in one of the many apartment buildings along Peter Bangs Vej, not far from the intersection with Staegers Alle. This was definitely a middle class area, and he felt calmer the closer he drove towards Staegers Alle. He felt sure that Ruth had been safe living in this neighbourhood. He turned left down Staegers Alle, looking for somewhere to park.

Then he saw her.

The last time he'd seen her had been on the day she went into exile. On that morning, her eyes had conveyed to him all the sadness of loss that he himself was struggling to keep in check. He'd wanted to wrap her in his arms and keep her with him, all the while knowing that was not possible. She'd looked up at him through her eyelashes, trying to smile, her eyes pools of sorrow. His whole body had ached with grief as the tugboat had chugged out into the river, its precious cargo watching him through the wheelhouse window, while he stood alone on the dock, aware that the invisible cord which joined them was about to be stretched to the point of snapping apart, perhaps forever. That day had been the worst of his life. All his close calls with death hadn't come close.

Now here she was, walking along the street towards Peter Bangs Vej. In her hand she carried a bag – of groceries, perhaps – and slung across her other shoulder was a brown leather bag with a long strap. Her head was down, but she seemed to know where she was going. Harry pulled the hire car into a space just ahead of her, then he jumped out of the car, taking the key, and stood on the footpath so that she would eventually _have_ to see him. His heart was beating hard and fast in his chest. Should he call her Melanie or Ruth? Silly question. "Ruth?" he said, just loudly enough that she'd hear him.

She stopped mid-stride, dropping her bag of groceries as she did so. He moved towards her to help her with her bag.

"Jesus, Harry," she said, "you almost scared the life out of me." Then her face crumpled, and tears began to run down her cheeks.

Harry was only momentarily uncertain about his next course of action. With Ruth's bag of groceries in one hand, he stepped close to her and slipped his other arm around her shoulders, and slowly and gently pulled her against him. All the pain and tension of the past thirteen months seemed to leave him. Ruth let her head drop against his chest, and so he put his lips against her temple and kissed her softly.

It was the kiss that did it.

Suddenly, Ruth pulled out of the embrace and hit Harry on the chest with her fists. "Bloody hell, Harry!" she said angrily, "What if I'd been carrying a gun? I would have shot you the minute I saw you, and then where would we be?"

He grasped her hands in both of his, holding them against his chest. "Are you carrying a gun, Ruth?"

"No," she said, shaking her head, and looking away.

"Then you should be!" Harry dropped her hands, and took a step back. As reunions went, it could have been worse. It could also have been better. They stood apart, simply staring at one another. "I'm here to take you home, Ruth," he said at last. "Can we at least go to your apartment and talk there?"

She nodded. "It's just around the corner." She looked up at him through her eyelashes, a slight smile on her lips. "I always have a bag packed. Just in case." Harry smiled back at her. It was so good to see her. He was so happy to see her he couldn't stop smiling. He struggled with the urge to wrap her in his arms, but he didn't want to spook her so soon after meeting her.

As they began to walk towards the corner together, Harry turned and held up the key, and pressed the button to activate the car's locking system. They walked to Ruth's apartment with some distance between them, and not touching. Harry wanted to be holding Ruth's hand, and Ruth wanted Harry to be holding her hand. She put her hand out slightly towards his own, but he was too far away. Perhaps it was too soon.

.

Ruth's apartment was on the third floor, a comfortable one-bedroom place with high ceilings and white painted woodwork. The walls were painted a blue-grey. _Like her eyes_, Harry thought, as he gazed around him. There was an awkwardness between them which took some time to thaw. Once in the apartment, Ruth occupied herself with preparing a pot of English Breakfast tea, and Harry helped her to organise something to eat – bread sticks, cheese, pickles and salami. They both knew they were focussing on the externals in order to avoid talking about what was important. They'd always done that. It was their default behaviour - if in doubt, do something inane, occupy your hands and your thoughts, do not look at him/her, hide your true feelings. Since their initial greeting they hadn't touched. They were alone in Ruth's apartment, so potentially anything could happen. He watched her, such a guilty pleasure, while she was occupied with the teapot and the cups. As he bent over the counter cutting up cheese and salami and arranging it on a plate, he could feel her eyes on him. The invisible cord which had always stretched between them was again connected... just.

Once they were seated on opposite sides of Ruth's kitchen table, the conversation gradually began, but there was much that they each held back from the other – this was understood and accepted. Harry didn't mention how much he'd missed her, and nor did Ruth say very much about her time in Germany. Neither mentioned Oliver Mace. His was the name-that-should-never-be-spoken.

Harry noticed a stronger and more confident Ruth. She was not the hesitant and frightened person she'd once been. But she was still His Ruth. Her hair was shorter, falling in a wave just above her shoulders, but other than that, she looked the same, and his feelings for her were as powerful as they'd ever been. Whenever their eyes met, he felt his heartbeat increase. Sitting across from her at her table felt as natural to him as breathing, but he could also feel her loneliness - just beneath the surface, right behind everything she said, every gesture, every look, and especially when she looked across at him. Her eyes told him that she still cared for him, that she had missed him, and that her time in exile had been achingly lonely for her. She exuded a sadness that almost broke Harry's heart.

The first thing Ruth noticed about Harry was his eyes. She'd missed those eyes, and she'd missed them seeking her out while she worked at her desk, or at a meeting, or first thing in the morning as he stepped on to the Grid. He appeared to have lost some weight – not much, but enough that she'd noticed the difference. Unlike most women, she had loved the extra weight Harry had carried, especially around his midriff. She had held inside her fantasies of running her hands over his bare stomach, and around to the small of his back, from where she'd wanted to slide her fingers under the waistband of his trousers to feel the rise of his buttocks. During her exile, her fantasies of touching his bare skin with her fingers had driven her almost to madness. But there was a difference in Harry that she was having difficulty defining. She had a sense that some time in the last thirteen-and-a-bit months, Harry's inner alpha male had taken a beating. Loneliness came off him in waves. She desperately wanted to hold him, and to tell him that the bad times were over …. except that she couldn't guarantee they were.

By the time Ruth checked the time on the clock on the stove in her kitchen, it was almost 11 pm.

"What are your plans for leaving, Harry?"

"I had originally planned to get you out of here tonight, but it's too late for that. There's a flight from Malmö to Newcastle at 7:30 tomorrow evening, so I'll need to book us on it. Do you have an internet connection here?"

Ruth led him to her laptop on the coffee table, and he quickly secured their seats for the flight back to England.

"You'll stay here, tonight?" Ruth's question was open, and without the nervousness and discomfort of the old Ruth.

"Yes," he said. "Now that I've found you I don't want to let you out of my sight, but I haven't booked anywhere, so I thought …..." He let the implication sink in. "I can sleep on the couch," he suggested.

"You don't have to do that, Harry. The bed in my room is quite large enough for us both, and I promise I won't take advantage of you."

Harry looked up from the laptop, to see her large, blue-grey eyes looking at him, a smile lifting her mouth at the edges. "Glad to hear it," was all he could say.

.

After bidding each other goodnight, they each kept well to their own sides of the bed. It was unnatural, to say the least. Each eventually fell asleep with thoughts of the other in their minds, and longing in their hearts. Each wished to hold the other close; each wished to kiss the other goodnight; each wished to drift off to asleep with the hand of the other in theirs; each wished to lie against the warmth of the other. It was too soon for such intimacies. That would happen later, when they were alone at the cottage. Surely it would …... wouldn't it?

Neither had brought the attention of the other to the fact that on the third fingers of their left hands they each wore wedding rings.

Harry awoke before dawn, aware of a warmth close to his back. He was lying on his side, turned away from Ruth. As they had drifted towards sleep, they had been as far away from one another on the bed as physically possible. Some time during the night, Ruth had gravitated towards him, her body drawn to him during sleep, just as a homing pigeon flies home. Harry couldn't move without disturbing her. Very carefully, he rolled over, and found himself within inches of her. Her eyes were closed, and her hands lay loosely on his waist. In that moment, in the half-dark, he wanted her with such an intensity that he had to hold his breath to bring himself under control. During the night, the duvet had slipped from them, and rested somewhere around their knees. She was wearing a long and loose blue t-shirt that he remembered from last night had fallen to mid-thigh. Some time during the night it had lifted so that her briefs – very brief, too – were exposed. He was simply unable to take his eyes from the bare skin of her stomach and thighs. Her breathing was steady, and she breathed out so that he felt it warm on his throat. He was sure that his heart would wake her with the sound of its drumming beat.

Without thinking too much about it, he reached out with his hand, and brushed a strand of her hair from her cheek before leaning towards her and placing his lips lightly on her own. When he thought about it later, he believed he'd had no other option at that moment than to kiss her. Her lips felt _so good_ under his own; they were proof that wherever she was, he was home. He had longed to kiss her in this way for so long that he forgot where they were and why. Ruth's reaction was instant. A deep moan escaped from her throat as she opened her eyes, slid her hands around him until her fingers splayed across his back, and pulled him closer to her, so that they touched along the length of their bodies. Her mouth opened under his, allowing his tongue to explore further, while his hands drew her even closer to him. His body had reacted immediately he'd turned over, and he was as hard as he'd ever been in his life. Ruth's hands lifted his t-shirt at the back, and she found his tongue with her own.

Harry suddenly felt his control slipping, like the inevitable dip into unconsciousness. Ruth's tongue inside his mouth, combined with her hands roaming down his back towards his buttocks, and her pelvis against his hardness was one step too far for him. He either stopped this now, or let them follow their animal drives to a natural conclusion. He wanted this _so_ much, but he – and she – were not yet ready for it. This was about to be just sex, and he wanted more than that. He wanted all of her, not just her body.

To pull his body away from her was one of the most difficult things he'd ever done.

"Ruth," he mumbled against her mouth, "not like this. I don't want it to be like this. I want -"

"_God!_" was all Ruth said, as she rolled away from him. "Do you have to be so damned _noble_... Do you know how long it's been?"

"It's been a long time for me, too," he said, as he got out of bed, grabbed his clothes, and headed for the shower. There was plenty of time to talk about this. Now, while they were both still so highly aroused and reactive, wasn't the best time. He had no wish to say something he'd not be able to take back, so he left the room without saying anything more.

In the days to come, Harry came to realise that turning away from Ruth on their first morning together after their long separation had been a mistake. To pursue the urges of their love-starved bodies had not been the wrong thing to be doing. They both wanted and needed the release of sex, and to have gone with where their instincts were taking them may have smoothed a path for them to break down the barriers which had existed between them for so long. In the days to come, he was to regret his decision to be noble. In that bed, on that morning, Ruth didn't want noble. She wanted him.


	4. Chapter 4

The drive from Frederiksberg to Copenhagen was quiet. They were each lost inside their own private thoughts, and neither knew how to begin to repair the awkwardness which had once more, like an early morning mist, settled between them. It took them over an hour to reach Copenhagen and then on to the E20 towards Sweden, and they'd barely spoken since breakfast.

"What will you do with the car?" Ruth ventured, as they approached the Øresund Bridge which connected Denmark with Sweden.

"I'll leave it in the carpark at the Malmö airport, and one of Malcolm's nephews will pick it up, take it back to Copenhagen, and pay the outstanding amount." Harry looked across at her, noticing she looked more relaxed now that they'd left Copenhagen behind them. "If we have time I'd like to take you to Lund. I think you might like it."

With that, Ruth looked across at him and smiled, and her smile melted the frosty atmosphere in the car. "I'm sorry I was so mad at you this morning," she said quietly, while looking ahead. "It wasn't fair how I behaved, what I said."

Harry didn't quite know what to say. "No, it was unfair of me to start something I had no intention of continuing." He thought for a moment before he continued. "It's just that being in bed next to you like that …... after so long away from you …. it was …. I should have exercised some restraint."

"I think you should have said _Bugger restraint_, and simply gone where your instincts were taking you. We've wasted enough time, Harry. That's something I've learned while being away from you."

"Had I just gone ahead ….. this morning …... it would have been just like all the sex I'd had before I met you. It would have been just another meaningless shag ….. and I doubt it would have lasted longer than a minute, the state I was in. I want more than that for us. _We_ deserve more than a frenzied sixty seconds. We have to get to know one another all over again," Harry replied. "We've both been changed by what has happened to us."

Knowing Harry as she did, she considered that to have been quite a speech. "Yes," she replied, "we have. I know I have." Ruth could see that Harry had added a few layers to his armour. She was afraid of how impenetrable this new armour may be.

.

With no passport checks at the border between Denmark and Sweden, they drove into Lund just before lunchtime. They stopped at a café on the edge of the university grounds, and ate a lunch of Swedish meatballs.

"While in Rome -" Ruth said after she'd placed her order.

"Keep your eye out for standing stones," Harry said as they walked back to the car. "Parts of this city dates back a thousand years. You'll find standing stones in all kinds of odd places."

"Where are we going now?" Ruth asked, as Harry indicated a left turn into Kyrkogarten.

"Just you wait and see," he said, smiling for the first time since he'd stepped out of Ruth's bed. "You'll love this."

And Ruth did love Lund Cathedral. It rose up out of the ground like a sentinel, watching over the city day and night. Stepping inside, they were cast back to the time of William The Conqueror. Ruth's eyes could barely take it all in. The town of Lund was a clash of old and new, but the cathedral was eleventh century through and through. Their footsteps echoed on the flagstones, as they ventured inside.

"Can we sit here?" asked Ruth, and she and Harry sat side by side on a pew at the back.

"Unfortunately," Harry whispered to her, his mouth close to her ear, "we can't go inside the towers with the pyramid ceilings. We'll have to make do with looking at pictures of them."

Ruth turned to him then, and for a moment he thought she was going to kiss him. Her face was so close, and her mouth was open slightly, as she looked right into his eyes. Harry reached out and took her hand in his, linking their fingers. She smiled at their hands, and allowed him to rest them on the seat between them. They sat like that for a long time. They were two friends, colleagues, and perhaps about-to-be lovers, and they were simply enjoying being together again. As Harry saw it, that was quite enough for now.

.

By the time Harry drove Ronnie's Mercedes into the yard of the cottage in North Yorkshire, it was almost 11:30 at night. Ruth had slept most of the way from Newcastle, and so she was a little revived by the time she entered the cottage. Harry, on the other hand, was completely knackered. He'd been awake since 6 am, and he was emotionally, as well as physically drained. He carried both their bags into the cottage and placed them on the floor in the middle of the living room.

"I'd better take Scarlet for a quick walk outside," he said. "The kitchen's through there. Make yourself a coffee or a tea, or whatever you like. If you're hungry, there's food in the fridge."

"Are you hungry, Harry?"

"I could murder a piece of toast. I'm too tired for anything else."

By the time he and Scarlet returned to the cottage, Ruth had made them a pot of tea, and several pieces of toast. In the middle of the table she'd placed pots of jam, honey, and some slices of cheese. They both ate ravenously.

Ruth put the plates and the leftovers on the sink as Harry carried their bags up the stairs to the bedrooms. He dropped his own bag in the doorway to his bedroom, and then took Ruth's into the room next to his.

"This is your room," he said, placing her bag on the bed. "Mine's next door, so if you need anything ….." His voice drifted away as he saw the surprised look on Ruth's face. "There's hanging space in the wardrobe, the chest of drawers is free for you to use, and the bathroom is right across the hall. The blue towels are for you."

"Harry," she said carefully, stepping closer to him, "we can share a room, can't we? I promise to not push you into intimacy. I'll be ….."

"It's not you I'm worried about, Ruth, it's me. I don't know that I'm capable of sleeping in the same bed as you without -" He left the sentence unfinished.

"Perhaps I don't want you to hold back. Perhaps I want you to lose control."

He stepped away from her, feeling his control again slipping. He'd have liked nothing better this night than to share his bed with Ruth. It was just that he had to get used to `this' Ruth. The Ruth he'd farewelled that morning by the Thames had not been this forthright. He knew he still loved her as always, but she'd changed, and he needed time to get used to these changes in her. He said goodnight to her, and walked back to his own room, shutting his bedroom door behind him.

Lying in her bed waiting for sleep to come, Ruth was more than a little bewildered. She knew Harry longed for her – she could read it in his eyes, and in his body language. She'd felt his arousal in his body only that morning in her bed in her apartment in Frederiksberg. Hopefully, he would soon explain his reluctance to be intimate with her. They'd both waited a long time for this, and without the confusion and intrusion of work – without terror reports, team meetings, bombing threats and general mayhem - this hiatus in the cottage, however long it was to be, seemed to be the perfect opportunity for them to become closer. She turned on her side, closed her eyes, and tried to think of something other than Harry Pearce. As she drifted in to sleep, her mind was full with images of him, while her body ached to feel his touch.

.

They soon developed a routine to their days and their nights. They rose early, and retired late, filling their days with activity. They took long walks on the moor, sometimes with Scarlet, but more often without. They drove into Whitby for shopping and sight-seeing, or just a bit of people-watching. They talked often, but about safe subjects, and they learned to laugh again. Harry could feel that they were again developing trust. He was enjoying her company immensely, just as he hoped she was enjoying his.

A regular task was that of acquiring wood for the combustion stove in the living room, the warmth from which heated the whole cottage. Harry had burned most of the wood stored in the woodshed in the first two months he'd lived there. A regular source of supply came from the nearby farm, but he was expected to help cut the logs into smaller pieces. On the third full day Ruth was with him, they drove to the farm to stock up on firewood. Rex held out his hand to Harry, and then beamed a broad smile in Ruth's direction.

"I'm glad to see you have your wife with you now, Harry," Rex said, his red cheeks lifting in a glossy smile. "Kerry and I were worried about you being all alone in the cottage."

"This is Ruth," Harry said, his hand on the small of her back. "My wife."

"And you'll be staying, Ruth?"

"Yes," Ruth replied, looking up at Harry, "I'll be staying for as long as Harry's here."

"Lovely, lovely. You must be a trusting soul, Ruth. My Kerry would never let me spend time in a cottage without her."

"I've been busy," Ruth replied, "with …... work."

"Now," said Harry, keen to divert Rex's attention from the state of his relationship with Ruth, "about that firewood."

Harry cut the wood with a chainsaw, and then Ruth and Rex stacked it into the trailer hooked up to Rex's Jeep. It was a still, cold and overcast day, but soon they felt the sheen of sweat on their faces. When Harry had finished slicing through the last log, he turned off the chainsaw, laid it down, lifted the protector mask from his face, and beamed at Ruth. She stepped close to him and put her hands on his chest, and he leaned down to kiss her. The kiss had not been planned. It just happened, perhaps as a natural outcome of pretending to be married, or maybe relief at being together once more. The kiss was more than a peck, and Ruth found herself opening her mouth under his. He responded, and slipped one arm around her waist and pulled her closer. Remembering where they were, and what they were meant to be doing he suddenly pulled back, surprise on his face.

"Perhaps you two need to get home," Rex said, his face one big smile. "I'll deliver the wood around 5 o'clock."

.

After lunch they took Scarlet for a walk on the moor. The kiss had not yet been alluded to. Ruth was keen to talk about it, but had to choose the right time, and the right place.

"We fit well together, Harry," she began. "That kiss felt right to me."

"Yes, it did to me, too. Perhaps it's these rings," he said, lifting his left hand so that the ring could be seen. Ruth also lifted her left hand, and put her ring finger close to Harry's hand. They stopped walking, and turned to face one another. "I've always wanted this," Harry continued, not taking his eyes from hers. "For so long, this has been what I've wanted. Nothing else matters."

"Then why...?" The question did not need to be spoken.

"I'm not ready, Ruth."

"But ... why? Talk to me, Harry. We've talked so much in the past three days, but we've not talked about anything that really matters to us. We've not talked about _us_."

Harry's shoulders lifted in a heavy sigh. "I don't know if I can."

"Try, Harry. If we're to ever be anything to one another, we have to be able to do this."

"I know. Over here," he said, indicating a ledge of flat rock jutting out of the ground. They sat down beside one another, but not touching. Harry unhooked Scarlet's leash, giving her free rein for a time.

"Do you know why I'm here?" he began, not really wanting to open the door on what had become for him a source of shame.

"This is not one of those existential questions, is it?" asked Ruth. "I take it this isn't about 42 being the answer to the meaning of life."

Harry smiled at her, his bright young thing. More than anything at this moment, he wanted to put his mouth on hers. "No. Do you know why I'm here, in this remote place?"

"Malcolm told me you needed extended leave, that you were burnt out."

"That's one way of putting it," he replied, looking down at his hands, which rested on his thighs. "Ruth, I was on the edge of a breakdown. I took myself away from the job. I couldn't cope with losing Zaf – because it's hardly likely he's still alive –"

"Yes," Ruth said quietly, her eyes suddenly sad, "Malcolm told me. Such a waste."

"And I couldn't cope with watching Adam trying to throw his life away, and I couldn't deal with a life lived without you in it. I had to accept that you may never be able to come home, or if you could, then you may not have wanted to. I was aware that you may have made a life elsewhere, that you may have met someone else. One day Adam mentioned your name, and I almost cracked right open. Perhaps I can't do the job any more, and if I'm not that person, who am I? What do I have to offer you?"

"You're not your job, Harry. It's _you_ I wish to sleep with, not your job. And if you can't go back to that job, there'll be other jobs. How much leave are you taking?"

"I have up to a year. Then I either have to go back, or resign. That gives me another eight months if I need it."

"I'm thinking there's more to this, Harry." Ruth looked up as Scarlet trotted back and put her front paws on Harry's leg. He leant over and scratched the top of her head, before she trotted off again in search of things of doggy interest.

Harry sighed heavily and looked at her. "Thank you for this, Ruth. Talking to you beats talking to some professional." He took her hand in his, linking their fingers. "Ever since the incident that told me I needed a break, I've been afraid that I'm -" He stopped talking, and took his eyes from hers.

With her other hand, Ruth lifted and turned his face so that he again looked at her. "What is it you're afraid of, Harry?"

"I'm afraid that I've become …... mentally incompetent, that I'm slowly losing it. Unbalanced."

"Harry, all of us are a little unbalanced. The job we do, it twists us into shapes that are inhuman in their form. You are without doubt one of the strongest, most honest, decent, and _sane_ people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. The fact that you are worried about this strongly indicates that you are as sane as the next man. What was the `incident'?"

Harry looked at her with love and gratitude, although he was not happy to recount the events of his last day on the Grid. "Adam said something like: _Where's Ruth when we need her,_ and I picked up the glass paper weight from my desk, and was about to throw it through the window."

"And did you throw it?"

"No. I held on to it, but I _wanted_ to throw it."

"Why?"

"Because I was angry."

"Why?"

"Because Adam had reminded me of what I already knew …... that you were not there, and maybe would never be again."

"See? Sane."

"How can you say that?"

"An unbalanced man would have thrown the paper weight, rationalising that he was justified in doing so. You, on the other hand, still had your moral compass intact, and so you _chose_ to not throw the paper weight. Why? Because you knew it would be an act of self-indulgence, and that ultimately it would not get me back."

"You're in the wrong job, Ruth." He lifted her hand to his lips, and kissed her fingers, one by one. Then he leaned across to her and kissed her, softly and chastely.

"Are we OK, then?" Ruth asked, after the kiss had ended.

"Yes, Ruth, we're OK. I still require time, though. There's something else, and I can't talk about that yet."

They stood up, Harry whistled for Scarlet, and then hand-in-hand they walked back to the cottage.

.

On the following Monday, seven days after Harry and Ruth had been reunited, they took a drive to Whitby, ostensibly for Harry to have his hair cut, and for Ruth to buy some more clothes, including some walking boots. They took their time over lunch – in a café overlooking the harbour – watching the fishing boats returning with the day's catch. It was windy outside, and the air capable of biting bare skin. Despite the cold, the sun shone, and while sitting inside over fish and chips, they could imagine they were on holiday at the seaside.

It was on the evening of this day, seven days after Harry had arrived in Denmark to bring Ruth home, that the impasse in their relationship was negotiated.


	5. Chapter 5

_Monday - 7 days after Harry and Ruth were reunited – North Yorkshire: 11.07 pm_

They sat over a pot of tea in the living room, watching the dying embers of the fire in the combustion stove. Although both were tired, neither wanted to move.

"I'd have expected to hear from Malcolm by now," Harry mused. "I'm wondering should I check in with him, to give him an update."

"When did you last speak to him?"

"When we landed at Newcastle Airport. I gave him a quick call while you went to the rest rooms. He knows you're here safely. He hadn't any news about Mace. I'm a bit worried that something may have gone tits up."

"Perhaps Malcolm's being discreet, Harry."

"Discreet?"

"Leaving us alone for a while."  
"Perhaps." Harry looked across at Ruth. "You haven't had one of your famous flashes of insight, by any chance?"

"About what? About us?"

"No. About the getting-of-Mace."

"I thought we were not going to talk about him until we'd heard from Malcolm."

"No, you're right. As usual," he added, smiling across at her.

They sat in silence until they'd drained the teapot, and then they sat for a while longer.

"I'm tired. I think I'll go up to bed," Harry said at last.

He got up, and was about to take their tea things into the kitchen, when Ruth put out her hand to stop him.

"I'll do that," she said. "I'm staying up for a little longer. You go up."

Harry reached down and kissed her on the cheek. They had created the ritual of kissing one another goodnight and good morning. It felt right to be doing this.

.

Harry was having the dream again, only this time he was aware that he was dreaming. It's just that he didn't seem able to stop it. He was searching for Ruth everywhere – in her apartment in Frederiksberg, in Copenhagen, in Lund Cathedral, in Malmö – and he was calling out her name as he went, asking anyone who would listen whether they had seen her. Other people either didn't understand him, or didn't want to acknowledge him, so he felt his levels of fear and frustration rising to screaming point. Then he heard her calling to him. He was aware that this dream was different. She was saying his name, over and over, and she was close by, but he couldn't see her. No matter which way he turned, she was always right behind him. He could hear her saying: _I'm here, Harry. I'm here._

Then he woke up, and Ruth's voice was still saying, _I'm here, Harry_. _It's alright, I'm here._

It took a few moments for him to move from his dream state to his bed in the cottage. Then he realised that something was different. He felt the warmth of a body against his back, and Ruth was crooning his name. Again, she was lying behind him, her body against his, and it was her arms that held him. He felt his body, of its own accord, respond to her touch and her voice. He felt the tension leave him as he allowed himself to lean against her.

"Thank you, Ruth," he breathed, afraid that by turning around to face her, his arousal would be evident.

"You were calling for me, and I came in to see what was wrong," she said quietly, her lips against his neck. One of her hands was on his shoulder, while the other had snaked around him, and was resting on his stomach, pinning his own arm against his side.

"It was a dream," he said. "I thought they'd stopped."

"You were thrashing about and calling out my name. I was worried about you. You wouldn't wake up." She then moved both her hands to his back and began to rub his tense muscles in a circular movement. "Tell me about the dreams, Harry."

"I don't know if I can," he said quietly. "You'll think I'm demented."

"But we've already established that you're as sane as any man. Perhaps you suffered a stress reaction. It can happen to anyone. Tell me about the dreams." Her voice was soft and crooning, like a mother settling her baby.

Harry knew that if he and Ruth were to ever make it together, he would have to tell her about the dreams. Slowly he turned to face her, ensuring the duvet covered him from the waist down. Then he told her about the dreams, the ones which had become nightmares. He left nothing out. He told her about searching everywhere for her until he was about to give up. He told her about making love to her in his dreams. He told her about the unconscious ejaculations. As embarrassing as it had been for him, he thought she should know.

When he'd finished, Ruth moved to put her arms around him. She was gentle, and she kept her body away from his. "Thank you for telling me that, Harry. I can see how difficult this was for you. Is this the real reason you haven't wanted to share a bed with me?"

He nodded. "It was one of the reasons. Had you woken up to find me in the middle of one of those dreams, you'd have been out of my bed in a flash, and I'd never get you back again."

"You underestimate me, Harry. I'm made of sterner stuff than you think." She pulled away from him, and looked into his eyes. The light from the hallway outside their bedrooms cast just enough light for them to be able to determine one another's facial features and expressions. It was a soft and muted light, one which invited intimacies. "There's something I need to tell you …... if we're to have any kind of future together."

He nodded, again amazed that she is back in his life, and even more amazed that she is lying next to him in his bed, that she hadn't leapt out of his bed and run back to her own room.

"I had to leave Berlin in a hurry," she began. "I've already told this to Malcolm, so he already knows …. should there ever be any …... repercussions. What happened in Berlin was also the reason I began to use another of my legends. I'd used the name, Linda Sorenson in Germany. When this … incident occurred, I had the choice of Poland or the Czech Republic, so I chose Prague. I'd always wanted to go there, but perhaps not under those circumstances. I became Melanie Glover when I entered the Czech Republic. By the way, Harry," she said, looking into his eyes, "do you think it's safe to use our real names with your neighbours?"

"You're stalling, Ruth, and yes, I think it's safe for us to be who we really are around here. Rex and Kerry know who owns this cottage, and they are aware of our need for privacy. You were saying -"

"Yes, I was. I had this job in Berlin. My landlord introduced me to man who owned a building business. This man – Gerry was his name – needed someone to sort out his computers. His software was out-dated, and all his computers were a mess of files here, there and everywhere. So I did that for almost four weeks. It should probably have taken me only two weeks, but my landlord, Paul, told me I needed to milk it, because Gerry was a low-life. On my last night working for him, I stayed back to explain to Gerry how to isolate terminals, or to switch from one terminal to another, how to identify the software. That's when he became …... er …... a bit touchy-feely with me." Ruth felt Harry's body stiffen beside her. "He tried it on, I think is what I'm trying to say. I stepped away from him, but was up against a filing cabinet, and then he started taking off his pants, saying things like how much I wanted it, and I'd been leading him on the whole time I'd been working there. Which wasn't true. Gerry was a gross, overweight 50-year-old. I took advantage of him having his pants around his knees, and so I pushed him backwards with all my strength, and he stumbled, and fell through the doorway and down the stairs. I killed him, Harry."

"If you hadn't, I was planning to fly to Berlin and kill him myself."

"I grabbed everything of mine from his office, and left. I left Berlin that night on a late train. I left no trace of myself behind"

"Do you know for sure that he was dead?"

"Not exactly, but I wasn't about to hang around to find out. He looked dead to me, although I didn't touch him. I didn't want to touch him. He didn't manage to touch any part of my skin, and I'm thankful for that."

Harry leaned across the space between them, and held her lightly. There was still a space between their bodies.

"I feel as though I've failed you, Ruth. You shouldn't have had to live that way, running from creeps like that. I should have been there with you. In light of what has happened since, I wish I'd faked my own death and gone with you. Being away from you was the very worst kind of hell."

"Harry, your body is so tense. No wonder you're having weird dreams. Take off your t-shirt and roll on to your stomach."

Harry looked at her quizzically. "Tell me you're not going to take out your rage at this Gerry by knocking me about."

"As much fun as it might be to `knock you about', I'm planning to do the opposite. Now, take off your shirt."

So Harry removed his t-shirt and lay on his stomach. He tucked his arms under the pillow on which he rested his head. Any embarrassment he felt about the state of his body was momentary. As he'd taken off his t-shirt, he'd noticed Ruth's eyes moving over him in appreciation. He wondered why it was that Gerry had been a `gross, overweight 50-year-old', and yet in Ruth's eyes, he was obviously an object of desire. He was not about to contemplate this paradox for long, as he felt Ruth's hands begin to move across the skin of his back. Nor was he about to think too hard or for too long about the vagaries of his relationship with Ruth. Whatever was happening between them on this night seemed to be taking them in the right direction, and he'd best not get in its way.

Ruth found the knots in Harry's back and shoulders, and she kneaded them with her knuckles, then pushed her fingers deeply into the knots, and then rubbed her palms across them. She was not qualified in massage; she was simply following her instincts and her heart. Whether he knew this or not, what this man needed most of all was her love. She spent a long time on his shoulders, as they were tight with tension. Once satisfied that his shoulders were loosening, she moved down his spine, pushing her fingertips towards his spine, aiming to loosen the muscles which held it in place. When she reached the waistband of his track pants she pushed her fingers beneath it to feel the tension in his lower back. "Harry, I'm just going to pull your pants down a little. I'm not about to ravish you. Not yet, anyway." When he didn't reply, she wondered whether he had fallen asleep. She could hear him breathing quite heavily. Very carefully, she pulled his track pants down so that his buttocks were exposed. She took a breath, recognising her own arousal. This was Harry's bare _bum_, and her hands were on it. _Shit!_ She moved slightly on the bed so that she could work in the other direction, massaging the muscles in his lower back and the tops of his buttocks. Suddenly she stopped, realising that she could not continue without taking liberties. All it would take would be a slip of her fingers, and she'd be massaging his scrotum. This was no longer just a massage. This was definitely foreplay.

Ruth then decided to move her hands out of the lower back area, so she again turned her body so that she could rub her hands along his back and sides in wide circular movements until she again reached his shoulders. Which was when she noticed his shoulders shaking slightly. Harry was crying.

"Are you alright?" she asked. "Have I hurt you?"

She saw him shake his head from side to side. "Just the opposite," he said into his pillow.

"Have I overstepped the mark? Did I go too far?"

Again, he shook his head.

Not knowing what else to do, Ruth stretched out beside him, this man she had loved for a long time, and tucked her arm around him with her hand resting on his waist, nestling her face into his shoulder. "I love you, Harry," she said, because if they were being honest with one another, that was the most honest thing she could say to him, and he deserved that.


	6. Chapter 6

They lay side by side with Ruth's arm around him, her hand creating circular patterns on his back, until Harry had settled, and his shoulders no longer shook. After a long time lying together, Ruth wondered whether he had gone back to sleep. No sooner had she had that thought than he turned towards her. His eyes were red, and there were tear stains on his cheeks, but something more had happened, something Ruth couldn't quite put her finger on. Harry wiped his eyes with his hand, and then leaned across her to take a handful of tissues from a box on the bedside table. After he'd wiped his eyes and face, blown his nose, and then wiped his hands, he lay on his side, looking at her. His eyes were filled with so much love for her that Ruth also felt herself on the verge of tears. They gazed at one another – neither looking away, with no need to hide – for a very long time.

After some time, Harry reached out his hand and traced a finger from her cheekbone down her jawline to her chin, and then under her chin, down to the hollow in her neck just above the neckband of her t-shirt. All this time, his eyes held hers, each spellbound by the other.

"Do you know how long it is since anyone has touched me like you did tonight?" he said at last. His voice was croaky from crying.

Ruth shook her head, too moved to be able to speak.

"Years. It's been years. Too many to count. And with all the indiscriminate sex I engaged in before I met you, none of those women – whose names I have long forgotten, and who never knew my real name – none of them touched me like you touched me tonight." He leaned towards her and gently and carefully kissed her mouth, like she were made from the most delicate bone china. He pulled out of the kiss and then looked at her. _Really_ looked at her. "I love you, Ruth," he said. "I've loved you for such a long time, and I'm not waiting any longer. I can't wait any longer. I think it's about time we allowed ourselves the luxury of loving one another completely. I'm sorry I've been holding you at arms' length. It's not been fair. On either of us."

By the time he'd finished speaking, Ruth had taken his face in both her hands, as she had on the day she'd left to go into exile. This time, the kiss she gave him was a beginning, and not a kiss of goodbye. She felt him sink into her, his body without the tension of an hour ago. It was only then that they allowed their bodies to come together, he wearing only track pants, while she wore a long t-shirt over her pants. The kiss deepened, her hands slid over his shoulders, while he slipped his arms around her waist until he began to lift her t-shirt at the back. Ruth opened her mouth to allow his tongue to find her own, and as it did, she felt his hands slip under her t-shirt until he was able to touch her bare skin. Skin on skin, such a sensual act. Harry pulled out of the kiss and took his mouth across her cheek to her ear, then down her neck to her collar bone. All the while, his hands were on her back, sliding downwards until his fingers were under the band of her pants.

Suddenly he pulled away from her.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I'm …. wondering if this is alright, Ruth, for us to be …... now …..."

"Yes, Harry, this is more than alright."

He again put his arms around her, and kissed her, both of them letting go of their past as the kiss deepened. That kiss heralded a new chapter in their lives. Emboldened by her response, he grasped her buttocks and pulled her hard against him, grinding himself into her through two layers of material – one his and one hers. Ruth was aware suddenly that Harry may be close to coming. After all, the massage she'd given him would have taken him right to the edge.

She pulled away from him slightly so that she could see his face. "Harry, do you want us to get on with it? Are you close?"

His eyes were barely focussed, but were blazing with his passion for her. He suddenly grabbed the bottom of her t-shirt and lifted it over her head. He looked at her bare body, and she thought he said: _God_, which was surprising, given Harry had often denied the existence of any form of deity. He dropped his head to take her nipple in his mouth, while he massaged around the other nipple with his fingers. He then grasped her nipple in two fingers and squeezed, at the same time as his teeth closed on the other nipple. Ruth felt herself about to burst, when Harry slipped a hand under the waistband of her pants and pressed her clitoris with his thumb, while he slid a finger inside her. _That_ is when the sky opened, and she felt herself falling, falling. She had a moment of clarity just as her orgasm hit that had she known Harry to be capable of this, she would have jumped his bones long ago. To have turned down his second dinner invitation was without doubt the stupidest decision she'd ever made. How could she ever have denied herself _this_?

_Note to self__: Say `Yes' to Harry._

While Ruth was splayed on her back, wondering whether she'd ever again be able to speak coherently, Harry had removed his track pants, as well as her pants. They were now naked in his bed, and the duvet had been pushed to the foot of the bed. When she could again see, Ruth saw Harry rise above her, his erection hovering at her entrance. He was impressive, in more ways than one. She reached up to him and brought his face down to hers. His kiss was passionate. No ….. his kiss was damned dirty. He reached into her with his tongue, and as his tongue found its way deeper into her, he pushed himself inside her. He held himself there until she lifted her body to meet him, and that's when she felt him deepen his thrust. He then pulled out a little, then back in, deeper with each thrust. He took his mouth from hers and managed to say, "I won't last long, Ruth. I'm close... sorry."

She grabbed one of his hands and led him to her clitoris, where he massaged her as he thrust into her again, deeper than before. She felt her whole body go into a spasm, and then he thrust one last time, his climax following hers. Ruth called out something, she had no idea what, while her partner groaned, "Christ! Ruth!" before he spilled inside her.

They rolled over on their sides, still joined, still panting, and held one another until their breathing returned to normal. She felt him slide out of her, and then he leaned across to her and kissed her gently.

"Mmm …. you are …... exquisite," he said quietly against her mouth, "and I love you dearly."

"I love you, Harry," she murmured in reply, barely able to keep her eyes open. "I'll always love you."

After a silence of a few minutes, Harry again spoke. "I can't believe you're here, Ruth. I missed you so much while you were away. It was …... an awful time."

"And I missed you …... every moment of every day. I went to sleep each night thinking of you."

"Let's not do that again," he whispered, his mouth close to her ear.

"You don't mean the sex, do you?"

"No, I didn't mean the sex." He smiled a lazy smile. "I think we should do that as often as possible. I was talking about being away from one another. We mustn't allow that to happen again." He then slid to the foot of the bed and grabbed the duvet, and pulled it over them both. They settled down in one another's arms and slept.

.

When Ruth awoke in the morning, it was to an empty bed. Her body ached deliciously in all the places where Harry had been. She now knew how it felt to be loved by him, and she would never again be the same. She rolled on to her back and listened, but she couldn't hear any indication of him being in the cottage. She felt a movement on the duvet covering her feet, and she lifted her head to see Fidget turning around and around on the spot, looking for the best place to lay. She smiled at him in his quest for the perfect bed. He had certainly chosen the right bed.

When Ruth had dressed, she stood in the kitchen wondering what she felt like eating, when she noticed a note propped against the salt and pepper shakers. _Good morning to the most beautiful woman in the world. I'm out walking the dog. I also have to ring Malcolm, and didn't want to disturb you. Love you madly xx _Love notes. Life with Harry was getting better and better.

Ruth gathered together the ingredients for scrambled eggs, knowing Harry's habit of taking Scarlet for a walk before breakfast. She knew she should accompany him, but to be out in the air this early in the morning reminded her too much of the morning she'd run into Mik Maudsley at the tube station. That had also been a crisp, cold morning, and in meeting Maudsley, her life's course had been redirected, and she'd spent almost fourteen months away from England and away from Harry. These days, Ruth preferred to stay inside on crisp, cold mornings ... to be on the safe side.

She was cracking eggs into a bowl when she heard Harry come up behind her. As his arms snaked around her, and his lips found her neck, she leaned back into his body, happy to let herself sink into him. She turned her head so that his lips found hers. The kiss they shared was deep and sensual, and they both moaned as she turned to be embraced by him, egg whisk in her hand.

"How about a quickie before breakfast?" he said, his lips against her mouth. "Perhaps a small tumble on the sofa."

"I'm still reeling from last night," she replied, running her finger along his bottom lip. "We have the rest of our lives, Harry. Besides, I'm hungry. How about you?"

"Starving. Can I do anything to help?" he added, stepping away from her, but still with a hand on her back.

"It's all under control. You can sit down over there and admire my bottom while I make the eggs."

"As tempting as that is, I'd rather admire your bottom when it's not hidden by clothes. I'll make the toast."

Over breakfast, Harry told Ruth about his phone call with Malcolm.

"Malcolm asked can he come here on Saturday. We can meet him at the train in York and drive him back here, and he'll drive the Mercedes back to London on Sunday. I told him I'd check with you first."

Ruth leaned across the table and rested her hand on his cheek. "I love that about you, Harry. You're considerate of what I want."

"By that I assume that you've known men who are not."

"I have. As to Malcolm, I can't wait to see him again. I expect he has news for us. About Mace."

"He says he has quite a lot to tell us, but he's waiting until he gets here."

.

That night they settled on the sofa in front of the fire. Ruth was reading _Wuthering Heights -_ about her tenth reading of it – while Harry browsed some old magazines which he'd found in the wood shed.

"They're not _those_ sorts of magazines are they, Harry?" Ruth asked, lifting her eyebrows.

"Boating and fishing. Nothing pornographic," he'd replied.

Eventually Harry became bored, and put down his magazine. He looked across at Ruth, engrossed in the fated tale of Heathcliff and Cathy.

"Do you want me to tell you how it ends?" he asked, rubbing his fingers around her ankle. Ruth was sitting with her feet curled beside her on the sofa, hoping that this would create some sort of barrier between them so that she could at least get in a few chapters before things became hot and heated between them, as she was sure it would.

"I know how it ends," she said, not looking at him. She knew that were she to establish eye-contact with Harry, the book would be discarded mid-chapter.

"So," Harry continued, edging his fingers under the leg of Ruth's jeans, "why read it if you know what will happen?"

"It's for the experience... and the language. It's a tragic story. It's about obsessive love, but more than that it's about revenge."

Ruth lifted her eyes to Harry. It seemed unlikely this night that she'd be getting to the end of the chapter. She grabbed her bookmark from the table beside her and placed it in the book. With the book back on the table, she slid closer to him. When she was close enough, she rested her legs on his thighs, making it easier for him to ….. to …... touch her. Her body tingled in anticipation. Harry ran the palm of his hand up one of her legs – over her jeans - to her knee and then back again. He then took her other leg and ran the palm of his hand up her shin, over her knee, and up her inner thigh, stopping just short …...

"I believe I owe you a massage," he said, his eyes calling her in such a way that her answer would always be yes.

.

Ruth was sitting on the bed, taking her time over undoing the buttons of her shirt. Harry stood in front of her, peeling off his clothes. He'd instructed her to do as he was, and strip down to her underpants. He was watching her as he undressed, wondering why she was taking so long.

"Is anything wrong, Ruth?" he asked.

She looked up at him as if noticing for the first time that he was in the room with her. "Oh …... nothing really," she said, undoing another two buttons.

"Are you having some kind of flashback?" Harry asked.

"Sort of," she said, "but not like you think." She then hurried through the process of getting undressed, throwing her clothes on the floor. Realising that, apart from her exceedingly brief knickers she was completely naked, and that Harry was watching her with hungry eyes, she turned away and lay on her stomach across the bed. He knelt on the bed beside her, leaned over her to grasp a pillow from her side of the bed, and lifted her shoulders and gently placed the pillow under her head.

Ruth turned her head so that she faced Harry. "I was thinking," she began, "about the night I pushed Gerry Peters down the stairs. While I was back at my flat packing all my things into my bag before I left to catch the train to Prague, I decided something."

"And what was that?" Harry's voice was gentle, encouraging.

"That from that moment on I would go after what I wanted. That I wouldn't hesitate and rationalise. I'd take what was offered …... if it was what I wanted, even if I believed I didn't deserve it. _Especially_ if I believed I didn't deserve it." She lifted herself on one elbow so that her body was turned towards him, her face, shoulders, breasts, stomach, thighs, and one knee all on display for him to drink in with his eyes. "That's why I acted like I did the morning after you slept in my bed at Frederiksberg. I've always wanted you. I decided I wouldn't deny you – couldn't deny you any more. You were in my bed and I wanted to take advantage of that …... just in case it never happened again. I …. thought you should know that."

Harry leaned across and kissed her. "Thank you, Ruth," he said. "Now, lay on your stomach, breath out, and let me do this."


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N: Thank you all for reading, and for the lovely reviewers who took time to leave a review. **_

_**This fic is now 13 chapters – 12 plus Epilogue... and I have also decided it is to be the first story of a trilogy... (which may be a decision I regret some time in the near future.)**_

**oOo**

Harry's hands slid up her back to her shoulders. His touch was nothing at all like the deep pressure of Ruth's fingers on his back the night before. His hands were gentle and careful, soft even. Harry wanted to run his hands over every inch of her skin, but for now her back would do, it would be enough. There would be many more massages. He kneeled on the bed straddling her upper thighs as his hands gently travelled from her lower back, just above the top of her knickers, to her shoulders. There he allowed his fingers to work on her collarbone, briefly flicking up her neck to her chin. He heard her utter a low sound, hopefully of enjoyment, perhaps of arousal. He leaned along the length of her back, ensuring his weight was taken by his left elbow, which rested on the bed beside her. He put his face close to hers and softly, like a kitten's purr, rested his lips on her cheek.

"I feel so loved by you," Ruth murmured, turning her head so that her mouth almost met his own.

"That's good to hear," he said, "because you are."

"Harry, I was -"

"Shhh," he said, putting a finger against her lips. "Just enjoy this. Don't think. Turn off your brain."

"Mmmm," was her satisfied reply.

His hands travelled slowly down her back, his thumbs pushing inwards towards her spine, the heels of his hands resting on her ribs, his fingertips feathering her skin. He felt her muscles ripple with pleasure beneath his fingers, and then he became aware of his own reflected enjoyment and arousal. At this moment, he wanted to be nowhere else. Everything he ever needed was right here in the room with him. It was that simple.

As he reached her lower back, he pushed both thumbs under the lace along the top of her knickers. Very carefully – and craftily too, he thought – he hooked his thumbs under the row of lace and quickly pulled them down over the cheeks of her buttocks. Again using his thumbs, he kneaded the muscles of her buttocks, and as he did he pushed her knickers down further until they were bunched at her knees. He then reached behind him and pulled them off her body. Ruth uttered something which he thought sounded like `neat trick', but he may have misheard her. They both knew what he had in mind. But first, he moved his body down to her legs, as he ran his hands over the backs of her thighs – from buttocks to knees, and then back again. He repeated this action, and on pushing his fingers towards her buttocks, he allowed his thumbs to glide along her inner thighs towards her entrance, now moist and very warm and inviting. One of his thumbs circled her entrance and then pushed into her. As he withdrew his thumb, Ruth moaned. In response, she reached one of her hands behind her and grasped the waistband of his underpants. As he sat up and pulled away from her, she pulled them forward and then down, exposing his erection. Having turned her head to watch him, she smiled her appreciation of what she saw, then reached for him, but he was too quick for her, and he pulled away from her hand.

"_I'm_ doing this for _you_," he said, "not the other way around."

"You're no fun at all," she replied, turning back to her pillow, and again tucking her hands under it.

"Do you trust me, Ruth?"

Ruth nodded her reply. As they'd been talking, Harry had removed his underpants, and placed his penis against the cleft between her thighs, just beneath the curve of her buttocks. Using his knees as leverage, he parted her legs, and lay between them, and then he pushed himself into the dark and moist region between her thighs, guiding his erection over her sensitive area. He heard Ruth's intake of breath.

"If this is OK with you, Ruth, lift your bottom off the bed and move your knees forward a bit."

She did as he'd asked. He reached his hand under her and slid two fingers inside her.

"_Now_, Harry," she called out.

He raised himself until he was able to enter her comfortably. Both of them gasped as he pushed himself fully into her, and in reply, she met him with a backwards thrust of her hips. Once inside her, he steadied himself by grasping her hips, while Ruth still had hold of the pillow. What began as a slow and rhythmic dance soon became fast and almost frenzied. Try as he might to slow them down, they had developed a rhythm and a tempo which was in direct alignment with their need for release. They had each still been harbouring the years of pent-up desire for one another, and this was their opportunity for letting it all go. He felt her spasm around him as she called out his name. This was his cue to push deeper into her and to let go of control utterly and completely. So he did. He cried out something, but had no idea what. While inside her he became a fully feeling person. His passion for her, his grief and sadness at the loss of her while she'd been in exile, his longing for her while she was away, all burst from him in that climax. He held himself deeply inside her, his arms around her, his head resting between her shoulder blades, while he allowed his heart rate to drop below dangerously rapid. Then, he fell on to the bed beside her, pulling her against him, grasping her close to him with his arms. He was now whole. There would be no more `looking for Ruth' dreams, of that he was certain. They drifted into sleep lying against one another.

* * *

Ruth awoke to the bedside lamp being turned on, and Harry placing a breakfast tray on the bed beside her. She sat up, suddenly aware that she was naked, and Harry was dressed for the outdoors. He leaned across the bed to kiss her.

"I feel somewhat under-dressed," she commented, reaching up to receive his kiss.

"You look wonderful," he murmured, kissing her again. "I've already eaten, and I've taken Scarlet for her morning walk."

"Boiled egg with soldiers, Harry. How sweet." Ruth sat up, holding the duvet against her to cover her breasts. She knew Harry had already seen every part of her body, but she hadn't yet progressed to feeling comfortable eating whilst laying herself bare.

Harry pulled up an armchair and sat beside the bed, telling her about his walk. "I found a cave," he said, his eyes alight, "in the cliff face above that stream I was telling you about. I thought I might take you there after lunch. That is, after you move your things into this room."

Ruth looked up from dipping her toast into the egg. "Are you sure about that?"

"It's the only practical solution Ruth." He looked at her, suddenly unsure. "That is, if you want to, of course."

"I want to."

"Besides," added Harry, "Malcolm might need the hanging space in the wardrobe next door."

"So, is this a move of expedience, or do you really want me to move into this room with you?"

"Both," he said, reaching across to grab one of Ruth's soldiers. "It was bound to happen anyway, and Malcolm's visit has just sped things up."

Harry watched her tucking into her boiled egg. It was such an everyday event, but she was in his bed, and that made it a miracle. He almost shook his head with the improbability of these past few days. He had hoped for all of it, but the reality was so much more than anything he'd imagined during his many long dark nights alone. He suddenly had the thought that if anyone were to threaten her, or to endanger what they were slowly building together, he would have to kill them, and preferably with his bare hands. The ferocity which accompanied that thought surprised him. He had not thought in those terms for several months, not since he'd left the Grid. He didn't enjoy the feeling which surged through him. It was one which he'd managed to put aside since he'd brought Ruth home. His underlying emotion – fed by a visceral, gut knowing - was fear.

Harry waited until Ruth had finished eating, and then he stripped down to his t-shirt and underpants and slipped under the duvet beside her. "I just want to hold you," was all he said, as he wrapped his arms around her and drew her close to his chest.

Ruth snuggled into him, wondering to herself what stars in the cosmos had aligned and brought she and Harry back together in this way. She wished for that moment to last forever. Living with Harry was a miracle, making love with him was breathtaking, but being held by him in this way left her searching for the right words. There were none in the English language. She closed her eyes and lost herself in his nearness, the male smell of him.

They were both still wearing the wedding rings of their legends – Melanie and Richard Glover. Neither dared remove their rings. Neither wished to. The wedding rings of their legends seemed to have brought them good fortune, so why change that?

* * *

Malcolm Wynn-Jones tried Harry's mobile for the fourth time that morning. As it had the other three times, it went to voicemail. Feeling a combination of irritation and frustration, Malcolm left another message, the same as the previous three: _Harry, ring me ASAP. This is really important. And I mean _really_ important. _Then, just to be on the safe side, he sent the same message in a text.

* * *

In Newcastle, a new arrival from Berlin was sitting in the airport lounge sipping a skinny latte. Detlef Rau had a taut and athletic body which he honed with daily weight training and exercise, and he would normally not sully this body with alcohol, dairy or wheat products, but he had reason for celebration. In this city, this dirty, loud city – somewhere – was an Englishwoman who held the key to a fortune, and he planned to make that fortune his own. All he possessed was a grainy photograph and two names. He suspected neither name to be her own, but he was good at what he did, and fake name or not, he'd easily find her. He had a nose for this sort of thing.

Detlef Rau carried no weapons. His preferred weapons were his hands, his speed, and his rat cunning. His prey was a woman, a small woman. He had no doubt that he could break her neck with one hand. _Einfach zu leicht._ Just too easy. He'd been prepared for this life since he'd been a small boy. His grandfather had brought him up to be a survivor. Whenever Detlef made a mistake, or broke the rules, his grandfather would remind him what would happen to him were he to do that again. _Ich werde deinen Hals wie ein Zweig brechen._ I'll break your neck like a twig. And his Opa would have. He'd had thick arms and strong hands, unlike Detlef, who was skinny and whippet-like. His gift had become his speed, but he knew how to break necks. He'd broken women's necks before. It was easy when you knew how.

Now all he had to do was find her.

* * *

While Malcolm tried to get in touch with Harry, and while Detlef Rau drank his skinny latte at the Newcastle airport, Harry and Ruth lay one another's arms in their bedroom in the cottage in North Yorkshire, occasionally talking, sometimes kissing, but mostly just enjoying the experience of being together with no distractions, no demands on their time, no misunderstandings pushing them apart.

* * *

In his hotel room, Detlef Rau opened his laptop and checked his protected email account. One email, with attachment. The day was getting better and better. He opened the attachment and watched the 3 minute video – an enhanced copy of the CCTV footage from Newcastle Airport from 9 days ago. There she is, accompanied by an older man …... a man too young to be her father, and too old to be her lover …... and yet, and yet …... there is something about the way they look at one another, something in the way they walk beside one another as though they are touching ….. but they are not touching. Detlef has never been swayed by the madness of love. He has kept his head, and as a result, he has kept his sanity. But he is an observer of people, and these two people love one another. Two for the price of one. Perhaps this called for a hostage situation. Such fun. This day keeps getting better and better. _Dieser Tag ist eine gute_. This day is good.

* * *

In the cottage in North Yorkshire, Harry and Ruth gave in to their bodies' drives and made love. This time, they began carefully, one caress at a time, and allowed the passion to rise slowly. By the time they were resting again in one another's arms, their skin gleaming with the sheen of sweat, it was almost lunchtime.

"Is this really happening?" Harry asked her.

"I've been wondering the same thing. I'm afraid I'll wake up to find myself back in Frederiksberg, wondering how I'll spend the next twelve months of my life... how I'll keep my sanity while not seeing you for another year."

"I love you so much. You know that, don't you?" Harry said against her ear.

Ruth nodded, turned to face him and said `I love you' against his mouth. Harry kissed her deeply and slowly, wishing that he were fifteen years younger, and so capable of making love to her again. As it was, in that moment, the only part of him capable of rising was his heart rate and his blood pressure. And his spirits.

* * *

Frustrated with Harry's silence, Malcolm did the only thing he knew how to do. He worked. But first, he rang cousin Ronnie in order to obtain the name and the phone number of the farmer down the lane from the cottage in North Yorkshire. Then he set about checking all incoming emails between Berlin and the UK, just those which had been encrypted. It was at times like these that he would have appreciated Ruth working by his side. When Ronnie rang back forty minutes later with the name and phone number Malcolm wanted, he handed over the checking of encrypted emails to Trent, a bright young up-and-coming analyst and technical expert from GCHQ. Unfortunately, Five were about to lose this young man to Six.

"Mr Dolling," Malcolm said when Rex rang him back, over an hour after he'd left a message, "you don't know me, but I'm Malcolm Wynn-Jones, Ron Fairweather's cousin. Ron and I am in the same business, and we're endeavouring to protect your neighbours – Harry and -"

"Harry and Ruth? They're such a lovely couple, and so affectionate, too -"

Malcolm lifted his eyebrows at that piece of news. _Sounds like progress,_ he thought. Then he went on to ask a favour of Rex Dolling, although to be honest, the greatest favour would be were Rex and Kerry Dolling to be able to keep their mouths shut.

Trent worked quickly and efficiently for an hour and a half, until at 12.08 pm, called out to Malcolm.

"I think I might have something..."


	8. Chapter 8

"Is that someone at the door?" Ruth thought she heard knocking.

"I think you're right," said Harry. "I'll go."

"Don't forget to put on some clothes," Ruth quipped, giggling at the sight of the man she loved hopping on one foot whilst trying to pull his pants up the other leg.

Harry opened the door dressed in only his trousers and his shirt, unbuttoned, his feet bare. As the door opened, he quickly checked that he'd remembered to zip his fly. Having not had time to put on underpants, an open fly could be ... well …. embarrassing, as well as revealing. Besides, Ruth would most likely tease him about it for the rest of their lives.

"Sorry to disturb you, Harry," beamed Rex Dolling, taking in the state of Harry's undress. "I have a message from Malcolm. He's been trying to contact you, but …..."

"Of course, Rex, come in." Harry closed the door behind Rex. "Tea?"

"Lovely, thank you. Ruth not here?"

"She'll be down in a moment," Harry replied, busying himself with filling the kettle, and grabbing three mugs from the overhead cupboard.

What Harry chose to not see was the knowing smile on Rex's face. "I love to see a happy couple," Rex prattled on. "Kerry and I were like that when we were first married, but then along came the kids – three of them, one after the other – and ….. well …... you know. I take it you and Ruth don't have children."

"No, we've not been married very long, although we've known one another a long time." Harry felt the need to give the man _something_. He seemed harmless enough, not the kind to divulge state secrets, and if he was being honest, Harry enjoyed continuing the charade about he and Ruth being married. It wasn't exactly a lie, but nor was it the truth. It felt like the kind of childhood bragging he and his friends had indulged in. As an eight-year-old he'd managed to convince his class mates that his father was an astronaut, but only on weekends, which had given him a lot of cred, even if only for a few weeks.

Harry was relieved to see a fully-clothed Ruth enter the kitchen and greet Rex.

"I'm very glad you're here, Ruth. Malcolm – he tells me you both work with him …... in …... security – has been trying to reach Harry here, and he has given me strict instructions for you both.

* * *

So they acted on Malcolm's instructions, and took the Mercedes to Rex's farm, storing it in a large, lockable, steel shed. It nestled between a harvester and a drill seeder, so was well out of sight should someone open the shed door. When not being used, Harry's Audi was to be parked amongst the trees behind the cottage, so that it was hidden from the road. The other instruction was that Ruth should not be left on her own, even if only for half an hour.

"But I can look after myself," she complained.

Harry gave her a stern look. Behind that look, Ruth could read his unspoken message ….. _I lost you once, and I'm not prepared to let that happen again._

"But if I had a choice, I'd rather be with you," she said to Harry, who smiled just for her.

Rex drove Harry and Ruth back to the cottage in his jeep. "Such intrigue," he said. "Much more exciting than farming. The closest I ever get to this kind of thing is during lambing season."

Harry said nothing, not wanting to give away anything which could raise Rex's suspicions any further than they already were. He'd been away from the Grid for too long. For the first time in four months, he was itching to be back there.

Rex dropped them home, and watched while they unlocked the front door of the cottage and went inside.

"He should work for MI5," Harry suggested, as he looked under a pillow on the sofa for his wallet.

"We need to go out again, Ruth," he added. "We have to drive into Whitby for supplies. We're out of wine, and I only have a thimbleful of scotch left."

"Saints preserve us," Ruth replied. "I was going to mention that we're low on bread, and we need some chicken legs, the animals need food, and we're almost out of tea, but I'm sure the alcohol food group is more necessary to our survival."

Harry stopped looking for his wallet and walked across the room to kiss her soundly. "Wise woman," he said, his hand resting against her cheek. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Ruth."

Harry's words took them both back to that cold morning fourteen months previously when they'd parted by the Thames. They stood for a moment, their bodies so close, the memory of that morning suddenly tangible, almost a physical presence in the room, the pain of their parting lingering in the air, a spectre from their shared past. Ruth put a hand on Harry's chest, and then she allowed it to drop. She could feel his breath on her hair, his need for _something_, but now wasn't the time to be addressing this. There was too much to be done in the now to deal with the past right now, so she lifted herself away from the memory. "But surely you'll contact Malcolm before we go into Whitby," she said.

"All in good time, Ruth. I know my priorities. The woman I love safe, replenished alcohol supplies, _then_ I can ring Malcolm."

This time it was Ruth who kissed Harry, "At this rate, Harry, we'll never get out of this cottage."

"Found it!" he said, stepping on his wallet, which had fallen off the end of the sofa. "Now, where did I put the key to the Audi?"

* * *

Detlef Rau was on the fifth floor of the McInnes Building at Newcastle University. No-one had stopped him. In fact, no-one seemed to have noticed his presence. This was one of the benefits of being an ordinary-looking man. His Opa had called him an unremarkable man, and as much as Detlef had hated him for it, he knew it to be true. _515 …. 516 …... 517 …... 518 …..._ nothing. There were no other rooms. Room 520, office of Dr Richard Glover, researcher in ancient European languages, did not exist. He checked his phone, and yes, it said Room 520, so he quickly walked back along the corridor, and along the other corridor which ran parallel. Then he checked the directory board opposite the lifts. Nothing. No Room 520 listed, and no Dr Richard Glover. It appeared that someone had doctored the website. _Shit!_

He almost ran down the stairs, out into the car-park, and took the bus back to his hotel room. He preferred being just another bland face in the crowd, so he chose to use public transport over taxi cabs or hire cars. He wished to leave as little trace of himself as possible.

It was time to try out the face recognition software which Paul had been developing. Paul, the kind man who had offered the Englishwoman one of his flats in Berlin at a reduced rent. Paul, the financial wunderkind-turned-benefactor. Paul, who could be bought, if the price was right. Paul, who had miraculously stumbled upon an Englishman who was prepared to pay the right price. He – Detlef Rau – would be the one to find the woman. He would be the one to _persuade_ the woman to transfer the money from her bank account to his. Then he would break her neck, and then he would disappear. _Ficken Paul._ Fuck Paul.

* * *

Back in the cottage, Harry began helping Ruth put away their purchases.

"How many more months are you imagining we'll be here?" Ruth asked him.

"Why do you ask?"

"Four cases of wine. Really, Harry, this makes us look like a couple of alcoholics."

He smiled at her and winked. "Making love is thirsty work, Ruth."

"Oh Harry, any excuse!"

He stepped behind her and put his hands on her waist. "Tell me it's not true. Tell me that all that ….." he leaned over and put his mouth close to her ear, while bumping his hips against her buttocks, "_exertion_ …... not to mention the sweat that pours out of us …... tell me that doesn't make you thirsty."

"Just thirsty for more, Harry," she said, turning her head to kiss him.

"Right answer," he said, kissing her again.

Ruth accepted his kiss with a murmur of appreciation. "But let's he honest, I think you'll find that the alcohol is generally consumed _before_ the sex, rather than after."

"You have a point there, Ruth."

"Harry," Ruth said, stepping away from him, "you have to ring Malcolm.

"So I do. Will you be OK putting this lot away?"

"I think I might get it done quicker without you here to distract me."

* * *

In his hotel room in Newcastle, Detlef Ru opened his laptop and downloaded the face recognition software from the protected server. If Paul hadn't wanted him to use it, he wouldn't have left it there, sitting on the server. While it downloaded, he rang room service and ordered a crab sandwich and mineral water. Once he installed the software, he hacked into the CCTV system in the city, and set the software to run, using the image from the attachment he'd been sent. It was grainy, but her features were clear, and the eyes were most distinctive. Even if she worked indoors, she had to be on the streets at some time. He could wait. He was a patient man.

* * *

"Malcolm, it's Harry."

"Harry, thank God you've rung. Did Rex get hold of you?"

"Yes, the cars are both out of sight. What's this about?"

"It might be nothing, but then again, it might very well be something. Most of all, I don't want you and Ruth to panic."

"Well, now you've got me worried."

"Is Ruth alright? Is she handling this?"

"Yes, she's not worried at all. We've been somewhat …... distracted …... these past few days."

Understanding the underlying meaning to his words, Malcolm smiled to himself. _About bloody time. It's only been four years! _ "One of my new analysts found some email traffic between Berlin and Newcastle, and in one of the emails was an video attachment of you and Ruth walking through the Newcastle airport terminal. The footage follows you out to the car park, but given that it was night time, and that the CCTV cameras are not state-of-the-art, the registration number of the Mercedes is not visible. However, the car possibly can be identified, as it's rather distinctive."

"Which is why you wanted us to hide it."

"Yes, and your own car – the Audi – I thought hiding it would be prudent, given you could be identified from the video footage."

"I'm with you. There's more, isn't there, Malcolm."

"Yes, there is. The emails from Berlin originate with a businessman called Paul Engel. This is where things take a weird turn. Paul Engel was Ruth's landlord when she lived in Berlin. She'd told me that he was kind, and had allowed her to pay minimal rent. He even found work for her. Has she talked to you about this, Harry?"

"Very little. Although I do know about the circumstances which led her to having to leave Berlin."

"I have Trent – the new analyst – doing further searches. I smell something more in all this, but I don't wish to create panic when there's no need for it. I hope you don't mind the intrusion, but I thought it wise were Adam and myself to drive up tomorrow. Adam intends going on to Newcastle, while I can stay with you, if that's alright. I'll bring my laptop and work from there." Malcolm took a breath before he continued. "Harry, I have no wish to intrude upon what is happening between you and Ruth. I know I was the one who said you need time to yourselves, and now here I am again barging into your lives."

Harry was aware of Malcolm's referring to his faux pas from over a year ago, after he and Ruth had gone out to dinner, and Malcolm had told Ruth how happy he was for them. "It's alright, Malcolm. Whatever you need to do. The spare room is free, by the way, so you won't have to bunk on the sofa."

Harry heard the smile in Malcolm's voice. "Well, that's a relief. I hope we can sort this out in a day or so. There's someone in Newcastle looking for the two of you, and while he is still there, then you are safe. It depends on how many people are involved, and who they are. There's still a lot we don't know. Ironically, were Ruth to weave her analyst magic, she could no doubt uncover this mystery in a few quick clicks of the mouse …... but I also don't wish to involve her in this."

Harry closed his phone after he and Malcolm had made arrangements, and then went in search of Ruth.

* * *

It was just after 5 pm that the face recognition software found a match. Detlef was so excited that he almost shouted aloud. There she was, the woman from the CCTV footage. He'd purchased a knife at a sports and fishing store only that afternoon, just before he'd gone to the university in search of Richard Glover. It was not his preferred mode of persuasion, but he may need it all the same. Now all he had to do was find her and wait.

* * *

It was mid afternoon before Harry and Ruth were able to take the walk on the moor.

"It's a little late to go as far as the cave, Ruth. Besides, I think we should stay close to the cottage."

"Do you really think we're in danger?"

"On paper, no," he replied, putting out his hand to help Ruth over a stream of water which had sprung up after the latest cloudburst overnight. "Malcolm says everything is speculation so far, but full scale wars have been fought over less."

"That doesn't settle my fears, Harry."

"I know. I'm sorry. There's that flat rock again," he said, leading her towards where they'd sat when they'd discussed `the kiss'. How far they'd come since then, and that had been only five days ago. "Sweetheart, I don't have all the information, and neither does Malcolm. Hopefully, we'll know more by this time tomorrow. Until then, I think we should simply live our lives."

Ruth grasped Harry's hand and laced their fingers. He watched her do this, and then leaned across to kiss her. There was potential for the kiss to become more than just a kiss. She was the one to break contact. "I was thinking about the possible motives for Paul Engel to send someone after me."

Harry's face dropped ever so slightly. "I must be losing my touch, Ruth. If you were able to think about that while we were kissing, then I'm obviously not doing it right."

"You kiss very well, Harry. I think that I could easily become addicted to kissing you."

"So -"

"So I was diverting your attention. I need to say something bout this ….. this Paul Engel thing. Something has been bothering me ever since you told me about your conversation with Malcolm." She had Harry's full attention, so she continued. "Engel was kind to me, that's true. But I always felt there was some kind of hidden agenda which I could never put my finger on. I felt he was setting me up in some way. Then when he got me that job with Gerry Peters, I thought there was something underlying that. Now, I'm not so sure. But Engel liked money, and he had a lot of money, but he always wanted more. If anyone is looking for motivation, I think they should follow the money trail to and from Paul Engel."

"Thank you, Ruth. I think you may be right. I'll let Malcolm know."


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N: Thank you all who have reviewed. Reviews make enjoyable reading.**_

* * *

As she opened her eyes Ruth was aware of feeling ever-so-slightly hung over. The bed beside her was empty, but that was nothing new. _So much for waking up together for the rest of our lives._ She hadn't known that this man she'd fallen in love with was such a dedicated early morning person. They had given the wine a nudge the night before, and then at some time around one o'clock had tumbled into bed, and _still_ Harry had managed to wake early. Ruth groaned and turned her back to the doorway, pulled the duvet over her head, and went back to sleep.

What felt like five minutes later, she felt cold feet against her legs, and cold hands at her waist. One of the hands began to move over her body. She held in any protestations, because despite his hands being cold, they were especially skilled, and she was enjoying their smooth circling over her waist …. abdomen …... er …. lower abdomen. _Christ, Harry, where did you learn how to do that?_ Eyes still closed, Ruth rolled on to her back. Putting her hand under the duvet, she connected with Harry's skin, and further exploration proved that he was naked.

"I'm doing this for _you_," he growled, "so hands to yourself."

Ruth could never complain that Harry was selfish in bed. Selfless, skilled, unique, passionate, creative, loving …... there were no end of adjectives to describe him in the bedroom.

"I could get to really like this," she said.

"I thought you already did."

He was right, of course. He brought her to orgasm with just his fingers and his mouth. She lay back (not once thinking of England, in fact, thinking of nothing at all, other than how good she felt) and closed her eyes, as she came back down.

"Your turn now?" she asked, opening her eyes to find his face close to hers.

"It's _our_ turn now," he said before kissing her.

Ruth gave herself over to the lovemaking. It was Harry who had coaxed her to let go and simply enjoy herself. With previous lovers she had allowed her head to get in the way: _Am I doing this right? Are my thighs too fat? Is he laughing at me? I wonder what my face looks like. Should I be panting now, or what? _ _Is he going to tell someone how crap I am in bed? _ With Harry, no such insecurities existed. They made _love_, and love was the point of it all. Ruth decided that she enjoyed making love in the morning. Harry was energetic in the morning, while she was still sleepily slow, and her mind and her body had not yet fully connected. It was in the mornings that she was best able to simply give in to her body's needs without her head telling her she may be doing something wrong. And what her body needed was Harry. Yes, sex in the mornings was something to which she was beginning to become accustomed …... in a nice way, of course.

* * *

Harry and Ruth had only just finished eating a late lunch when Adam and Malcolm arrived. Ruth had not seen either man for over a year, and so she hugged them each in turn. When Adam lifted her off the ground in a bear hug, Harry objected.

"Put my woman down, young man," said Harry, his smile showing Adam that no harm was meant.

"_Your_ woman?" said Adam, putting her down. "And how do your feminist sensibilities sit with that, Ruth?"

"They don't, of course," Ruth replied, "but the benefits far outweigh any disadvantages."

"Cryptically and appropriately answered," said Malcolm, lining up for a hug from Ruth.

"You sly old dog, Harry," said Adam, enveloping Harry in a manly, back-slapping hug. "Who'd have thought you had it in you?"

"I might be middle-aged, but I'm a long way from decrepitude," Harry replied, looking across at Ruth, hoping she didn't mind the piss-taking at their expense.

"I can certainly vouch for that," Ruth said quietly.

After a half hour of catching up, the four of them sat at the kitchen table with a pot of coffee and a pot of tea – tea for Ruth and Malcolm, and coffee for Adam and Harry. On a large plate lay an assortment of biscuits – hobnobs, custard creams, gingernuts and fig rolls.

"I honestly don't think either of you have anything to worry about," began Adam, "but to be on the safe side, until this whole operation is over, I think you should stay close to home. Wouldn't you agree, Malcolm?"

"Yes, I would." Malcolm opened his laptop on the table in front of him. "Our newest recruit on Section D, an analyst called Trent Devereaux, has uncovered an interesting web of activity, the origin of which appears to be our old friend, Mace. No surprises there. Our first priority, though, is to grab this guy who is in Newcastle, and who appears to have been looking for the two of you, judging by the CCTV we intercepted." Adam looked at Harry and Ruth.

"Who is this man, Adam?" asked Ruth. "Have you any idea?"

"I don't have a name, nor do I have a face, but we have our suspicions, and I think we've pinned him down to a place. It appears he's booked into the Premier Inn in Newcastle central. He booked under the name of John Gardiner, and he speaks quite passable English, but with what my contact in the hotel calls a `distinct Teutonic accent'. That's what aroused his suspicions. If this guy had booked himself in as Gunther Schulz, then no-one would have noticed him."

"So, he's a bit thick, is what you're saying?" said Harry.

"His attempts to blend in have been …... obvious. We don't know how long he'll be there, which is why I'm heading on to Newcastle from here, while Malcolm stays here, tethered to his laptop."

"Our analyst, Trent, has been following the money trail – as you suggested, Ruth – and it's a convoluted one, but not all that surprising. Your landlord in Berlin, Ruth, was a man called Paul Engel. This same Paul Engel did gaol time around five years ago for tax evasion and fraud. He's said to have skimmed millions from corporate accounts all over the world, but so far no-one's been able to find the money. While in gaol he met a young man called Detlef Rau, and the two found they could use one another. Engel had the brains, while Rau had the street smarts and the technological knowledge. Together they began to create a series of software programs to suit their own purposes." Malcolm hesitated before he continued. "I think that a summary would suffice, wouldn't you say?"

"Please," said Harry.

"One of the people Engel is said to have swindled is Oliver Mace. He managed to steal – electronically – around five million US dollars from an account Mace held in the Cayman Islands. That is, Engel and the boy, Detlef Rau, together took the money, and that money was deposited in an account held by Engel in a Swiss bank."

"So where do Ruth and I fit into this?" said Harry.

"Mace found out who had the money and went to Engel with a proposition. If Engel could set you up, Ruth, so that Harry would come running to save you, then he'd have Harry where he wanted him. But he also had to implicate Ruth in some kind of crime."

"Gerry Peters," Ruth breathed.

"The sleaze?" Harry said, looking at Ruth, who nodded.

"That's a possibility," said Malcolm. "Trent Devereux discovered that that five million US dollars had been transferred into the account of Linda Sorenson – your legend while in Germany, Ruth – two weeks after you left Germany and became Melanie Glover. You were being implicated in theft."

"I took all the money that I needed from that account the night I left Berlin," Ruth said. "I left 350 Euros in my account, just so it didn't look quite so suspicious. I haven't accessed it since."

"Gerry Peters didn't die the night you pushed him down the stairs, Ruth," said Malcolm, "but he did end up on life support, and his wife had it turned off after he was pronounced brain dead. His fall down those stairs was put down to his high blood alcohol level, the late hour, and of course, his pants being around his knees. The family didn't want his fall investigated, because to all intents and purposes, it looked like an accident. No-one even knew you were in his office that night, which puts you in the clear. Transferring money to Linda Sorenson's account may have been the attempt to make it appear that you'd stolen it from Mace – or Engel. The money trail supports this. Then all they needed was you, Ruth, and the rest – supposedly – would happen according to plan. Harry would come looking for you, and they would use you to reel him in."

Ruth looked visibly relieved. "What about Mace?" she asked. "Has he been found?"

"Not yet," replied Malcolm, "although it appears that he travelled from Copenhagen to Berlin on the night Harry flew to Copenhagen to get you. It was only good luck that you didn't run into one another at the airport. He's now in Amsterdam, and my cousin's two sons are looking out for him as we speak." Malcolm hesitated, as though considering what to say next. "There is something else. This man in Newcastle is most likely Detlef Rau, the man Paul Engel met in gaol. He may have been sent by Engel – at Mace's bidding – to either capture Ruth, or set her up in some way. And there's another thing you should know – the reason Adam and I think you should lay low for a while. I was browsing the Newcastle newspapers online this morning, and this photograph caught my eye."

Malcolm turned his laptop around so that the others could see it. Harry and Ruth both gasped at what they saw - a photograph of a young woman who looked remarkably like Ruth, except it wasn't Ruth.

"The resemblance to you is no accident, Ruth," Malcolm said. "We think that this man – if it is Detlef Rau – was looking for you, and he killed the wrong woman. Her neck was broken. She was found in an alleyway in the city. Her name is Christina MacTernan, aged 32, from Glasgow. She moved to Newcastle six months ago looking for work, and began working as a sales assistant at a city shoe store only five weeks ago. She was in the wrong place, and at the wrong time."

Malcolm noticed that Ruth looked distressed at the news of the woman who had resembled her. She held her hand to her mouth, her eyes stricken, while Harry put his arm around her shoulders, and drew her towards him.

"It's not your fault, Ruth," said Adam.

"Death follows me," Ruth whispered.

"If that's so, then death also follows me," said Adam.

"It follows us all," Malcolm said quietly.

Harry had moved closer to Ruth and placed his lips on her temple. He then whispered to her, his lips next to her ear, so that the other two men couldn't hear. They busied themselves, Malcolm with his laptop, and Adam with topping up the coffee and tea cups of the others. Neither man had ever seen this side of Harry. They had seen him in pain, grieving the losses of his team with strength and stoicism. They had seen his compassion when one of his team made a genuine mistake and required keeping in line. They had witnessed his anger and grief over Ruth being away from him. But neither had seen Harry so tender and loving and protective of another person as he was being with Ruth. His actions in that moment fleshed out the man and gave him a depth and dimension, as well as insight into his actions on the Grid on the day he'd decided to take leave.

Harry took his attention from Ruth for a moment. "Why would this guy – this Rau – why would he want to kill Ruth? Surely she's worth more alive than dead?"

"That's something I have to find out," said Adam. "Not only am I wanting to speak with this little weasel, but I need to find out his connection with Mace. When we have that, we have Mace."

* * *

Harry, Ruth and Malcolm ate a quiet dinner of fillet steak and stir fry vegetables which Malcolm had insisted he cook for them. His laptop was close by, sitting open on a bench-top, and his and Harry's mobile phones sat at the end of the kitchen table, awaiting any news from Adam.

"I'm quite a good cook, you know," Malcolm said to Ruth, who couldn't help hovering around him as he chopped the vegetables. "I don't need help. I've been cooking for myself for years."

"I'm sorry, Malcolm," Ruth said. "I didn't mean to doubt your abilities."

A companionable silence emerged between them, while Malcolm chopped and stir-fried, and Ruth sat at the table watching him. Harry had taken Scarlet for a quick walk before dinner.

"Things seem better with you and Harry now," Malcolm observed, watching Ruth for any signs that he'd over-stepped the boundaries of their friendship. "You seem more …... relaxed in one another's company."

"Yes. It's amazing what a difference it makes for us to be together away from the pressure cooker of the Grid. I need to warn you, Malcolm, that Harry is very protective of …... of _us_ …... and he doesn't like sharing `us' with others."

"I understand perfectly, Ruth."

"But given that you and Adam have been so instrumental in us being …... together ….. then I'm sure he can't object to you and me talking in this way. After all, you were there through all our bumbling and stumbling and disagreements. I also need to thank you for sending Harry to get me."

"Once I suggested it, wild horses couldn't have kept him away." Malcolm sat across from Ruth at the table while the vegetables cooked.

"Thank you for your support. Harry and I are both grateful, and we're grateful for the efforts you and Adam are putting in to finding Mace."

"Don't mention it, Ruth. Ros told us to do what we had to, both to get Harry back in Section D – because he's missed - and to clear your name. I think she feels partly responsible for what happened to you."

Ruth didn't comment. She knew that Ros may have played a part in her having to leave England and having to fake her death, but it was all in the past now. The present made the past worth it.

* * *

After a late dinner, Harry and Malcolm cleaned up the kitchen, while Ruth had an early night. Harry accompanied her upstairs to say goodnight.

"Malcolm and I have to stay up for a while," he explained. "Adam should report in some time this evening. I hope it's good news."

Ruth took off all her clothes and crawled into bed. Like Harry, she had discovered she enjoyed sleeping with her bare skin against the sheets. She reached her arms up to him to kiss him goodnight.

"I'll miss you in bed next to me," she said against his mouth.

Harry kissed her longingly. "I'd rather be here with you," he said, "but duty calls."

"I know"

Harry turned off the light as he left the room. "Goodnight, sweetheart," he said as he closed the door.

* * *

In Newcastle, Detlef Rau had been on the streets all day and all the previous night. He'd slept in lanes and alleyways, and stolen clothes from a bargain bin outside a second-hand clothing store. His own clothes had become torn and stained, and besides, they smelled bad. He needed a shower, and he needed to sleep. He was angry with himself. The woman he had followed had not been English. Maybe his Opa had been right. Maybe he _was_ stupid after all. He took an indirect route back to his hotel.

Detlef Rau was occupied with swiping his keycard to open his hotel room door, when he felt strong arms around his neck, pulling, pulling …...

* * *

The Night Manager of the Premier Inn had once been an asset of Adam's, so at Adam's request, he gave him the room directly across the corridor from the German who had booked in as John Gardiner. All he had to do was wait for Rau to come back. Then he grabbed him around the neck, and instructed him to open the door so that they could `talk'. Being half his size, Rau was no match for his captor.

Adam had barely needed to raise a sweat.

* * *

_**A/N: I apologise if the background plot appears a little convoluted. I created it to give reasons for both Ruth having to come home, and for her being able to once again use her own identity. Somehow, the plot part of it got away from me.**_


	10. Chapter 10

Next morning, Ruth was woken by an excited Harry. This time he was fully clothed, and so didn't climb into bed with her.

"Good news, Ruth," he said, kissing her excitedly. "Two birds in one night."

"What's this about birds?" she asked him, still half asleep.

"Come on, sweetheart. Get dressed. It's a great day."

Ruth had never seen Harry in this kind of mood. She thought she'd witnessed all sides of him, but exuberance was something different.

When Ruth was dressed she joined Harry and Malcolm downstairs.

"Did Harry tell you what happened, Ruth?" asked Malcolm.

"No, and he'd better not either, not until I've had a cup of tea. And some toast."

"Toast?" exclaimed Harry. "It's eggs and bacon this morning, Ruth. We're celebrating."

"As glad as I am about whatever it is is making you two happy, I still need my tea."

"Consider it done," said Malcolm, as Harry fired up the frying pan for bacon and eggs for three.

"So," said Ruth, once she'd finished her first cup of tea, "what's all the excitement about?"

"Last night Adam picked up Detlef Rau, who, after considerable _persuasion,_ confessed to the murder of Christina MacTernan, as well as to wanting to capture you so that he could force you to transfer the five million from your Linda Sorenson account to his. He seemed to not have thought it through very well, although I believe this was Plan B. Plan A was to kidnap Harry, and hold him until you'd transferred the money. It appears his aim had been to have enough money so that he could escape Paul Engel's clutches."

"And Adam should be back here by mid afternoon," added Harry. "He's handed Rau over to the Northumbria police in Newcastle. He just has to make a statement, and then he can leave."

"And better than that," said Malcolm, "is that early this morning I received a phone call from cousin Ronnie's son, Eddie, from Amsterdam. It seems Eddie caught Oliver Mace and Simon _in flagrante delicto,_ and he now has a series of very incriminating photographs, all of which are extremely graphic and of excellent quality." Malcolm seemed pleased about that. "Eddie emailed them to me after he phoned."

"You'll excuse me if I don't want to see them, Malcolm," said Ruth.

"I wouldn't dream of letting you see them, Ruth," Malcolm replied. "With the financial trail that Trent followed, there is enough on Mace to be able to trade him for a confession that he had the video of Mik Maudsley's suicide doctored. If not, more pressure will be brought to bear, with the threat of High Court action in this country, if necessary."

Ruth didn't know how she felt about all this. An innocent young woman had been murdered, only because she looked remarkably like someone else. Too many people had died, too much time had been lost while she and Harry had been apart, and suddenly it was all too much for Ruth. She felt the tears tumbling down her cheeks before she was even aware that she was crying. Harry dropped the spatula on the bench by the stove and came to her side.

"Ruth, what is it?" he asked, concern in his voice, as he pulled out the chair next to her and sat down.

Malcolm took over the cooking, turning his back to give his two friends some privacy.

"It's all too much, Harry," she said, her voice quiet, so that only Harry could hear her. "I was scared a lot of the time I was away, and I was terribly lonely. And I missed you terribly." She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her jumper. "But all this death and …... everything. It's too much. It's too high a price. I've enjoyed being here, just the two of us, with no excitement, no surprises."

"So have I. You know I have."

Ruth turned her head to look at him. "But Harry, you come alive when there's an operation under way. I can see it in your eyes. You're excited about this. I feel as though I'm again losing you to the job. And when that happens …... well, we both know what happens."

"Ruth, I'm excited to have trapped Mace. That's what this is about. Once we have his confession to having framed you, then you can reclaim your identity, and we can get on with our lives. _Our_ lives, Ruth. You and me. Together." He leaned across and put his arms around her, and held her for a long time. After a time, Ruth put her own arms around his neck, and allowed herself to he held by him.

"Breakfast is ready," said Malcolm quietly.

* * *

Adam dropped in briefly on his way back from Newcastle, but he was keen to get back home to spend the weekend with Wes. Ruth reached up and hugged him. "Thank you," she said, "for everything." Adam nodded, and kissed her on the cheek before he climbed into his car. "And give Harry's and my love to Wes," she added.

Adam nodded and waved before he drove away.

Harry and Ruth convinced Malcolm to stay with them for another two nights – until the end of the weekend – and he could then drive Ron's Mercedes back to London. As reluctant as Malcolm seemed, he was pleased to be asked, and so agreed.

"Besides, Malcolm," Ruth said, "Harry and I need help in getting through this truckload of wine. We'll never manage it on our own."

"I'd be happy to help in any way I can," Malcolm replied, a slow smile creeping across his face.

* * *

"Malcolm," asked Ruth, as Harry opened their fourth bottle of pinot noir, "do you think that I'm – or Harry, even – are still in any danger? Tell me seriously what you think."

"As of this moment, Ruth, no. Mace can only act from outside the UK, and he has bigger problems at the moment. He'll not want his ….. private activities to become common knowledge. Just imagine the damage we could create if those photos were to be leaked to some of the European magazines. Then there's the internet. All it would take would be one click of the mouse, and his proclivities would become public knowledge. Before anything else, Oliver Mace is self-serving. And Paul Engel is only interested in money, and he cares not where he gets it. He has no personal interest in you. Mace's interest is in Harry, and his word is worth nothing, now we have these photographs."

"So what happens to the money in the Linda Sorenson account?"

"At this early stage I couldn't say. Perhaps Interpol may be interested in it. I could easily hack into the account and transfer some to any account you nominate. All you have to do is say the word, Ruth, and the money's yours." Malcolm looked at Ruth quizzically.

"God, no, Malcolm," she replied, "I don't want any part of it. It's dirty money."

"You're far too decent, Ruth," Malcolm commented.

"Would you want any of that money, Malcolm?"

"Not really, but nor have I earned it."

"Neither have I."

"You lived in a degree of danger for anything up to thirteen months, Ruth. You were at the centre of a plot to discredit you and to entrap Harry. I'd call that having earned it."

"Well, I wouldn't. What do you think, Harry?"

"I think you should accept whatever money accidentally falls into your account, sweetheart. None of these people know you as Melanie Glover. It would look like an innocent mistake."

"And what if Interpol find out?"

"Now that," said Malcolm, "may be tricky."

When Harry opened the fifth bottle of wine, Ruth asked Malcolm about her identity.

"I can't wait to be Ruth Evershed again. Will I be able to do that, Malcolm? I need to feel like me."

"That's a Home Office issue, Ruth. Whom would you suggest we contact, Harry?"

"No-one in high office," Harry replied. "Perhaps you could try Eve Cunningham. She's high enough, but not political, and she owes me several favours. I got her son out of that scrape with the prostitute five years ago, if you remember, Malcolm."

"Yes, I do. Consider it done," Malcolm replied.

* * *

"Harry, you can't possibly expect me to climb up there!" Ruth exclaimed. "I'm a woman, not a mountain goat, and nor is Malcolm."

"I'm not a mountain goat, nor am I a woman," observed Malcolm, "but I'm quite happy to just sit here, enjoy the view, and leave the climbing to you, Harry."

It was Saturday afternoon, the air was cold, the sky was almost clear, and they had walked all the way to the cave which Harry had promised he'd show Ruth.

"Ruth, give me your hand," Harry said, reaching out to her with his hand. "I'll help you. It's not as high up as it looks. It's worth it when you get there. Trust me."

"Harry, you must know that `trust' and `me' are two words which should never be spoken together by a man to the woman he loves. Trust me, I've had a vasectomy. Trust me, that woman is not my wife. Trust me -"

Malcolm's shoulders shook as he laughed to himself. These two were still a steady source of entertainment, even now they were together.

"OK, Ruth, I get it. Here – take my hand and I'll help you up the slope."

"Slope? That's a bloody sheer cliff! You may have been used to rambling around on this moor for the past four months, but I'm not leaving the ground."

"Darling, take my hand. Please."

"Calling me sweet nothings won't change my mind, Harry. I left Denmark with you so that I could stay safe, and now you're hell bent on trying to get me killed!"

Malcolm stood beside Ruth and put his hand on her shoulder. "Harry," he said, "I suggest you climb up to the cave, take some photographs with this camera," handing his digital camera to Harry, "and I'll look after Ruth for you."

So Harry climbed, while Ruth and Malcolm sat on a rocky outcrop and gazed across the valley below them, the sea sparkling in the sunshine way in the distance. They sat for some time in companionable silence.

"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," Ruth observed.

"Me neither," said Malcolm. And after some time, "Ruth, now that you're technically a free woman, when are you thinking of coming back to work?"

"I haven't been asked back yet, Malcolm."

"I'm sure that Harry will want you back in Section D."

"One would think so. He and I haven't talked about it, although he did say something about us needing a couple of weeks to ourselves before we go back to London."

"That might work out well then."

"How so?" Ruth asked.

"Trent Devereaux begins at Six in three weeks. You're an obvious replacement for him."

"I'll talk to Harry. I know he's keen to get back to work, but we both need at least another two weeks just to unwind and enjoy each other."

"You missed out on an adventure, Ruth!" Harry shouted from the mouth if the cave.

Ruth looked up at him and waved and smiled. He looked so relaxed, so happy she couldn't do anything else.

* * *

Malcolm insisted he take them out to dinner. "I've already booked," he said, when Ruth objected. "You'll like it, I promise."

The sign above the door of the restaurant made Ruth smile. "_Harry's_!" she said. "What a lovely gesture, Malcolm. I thought this place was booked out weeks in advance."

"Not at this time of year, although I had to exert some – er – influence to get us the table I wanted," Malcolm said, opening the door to _Harry's Lounge Bar & Brasserie_ for Ruth to enter ahead of he and Harry. "I happen to know someone on staff."

"Is there anything you can't do?" asked Ruth once they were seated at their table in the brasserie.

"I haven't been able to find what you and Harry have," Malcolm said with a hint of sadness.

"It's not too late, Malcolm," said Harry, with equal seriousness. "You're never too old to find love. Look at me."

"You and Ruth were made for each other," Malcolm replied. "You just have to watch you together to see that. That is very rare. Don't ever take it for granted."

Ruth and Harry exchanged a look which said that they were happy and grateful that they had found one another. Harry grasped Ruth's hand and drew it to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers. "We don't," Harry said quietly.

"Besides," continued Malcolm, "I've come to enjoy my own company. No-one to argue with over who has control of the TV remote, or whether the roast is overcooked, or getting into bed with cold feet. I can do what I like without fear of upsetting another."

Harry and Ruth looked at one another, their understanding communicated through their eyes. They knew there was more to their life together than TV remotes or cold feet, and the benefits of being together far outweighed any differences of opinion.

* * *

It was early Sunday morning, and Harry was still in bed beside her, but he wasn't asleep. His legs were entwined with hers, and his hands wandered over her naked skin, while his lips savoured her shoulder. Then her collarbone. Then her neck. Now her ear, and his tongue had found its way into her ear so that she gasped with the tingling which rippled through her body.

"Harry …... what are you doing?"

"Do I have to draw you a map, Ruth?" he mumbled, his lips still over her ear, one of her more sensitive body parts.

"But, Malcolm …..."

Harry pulled away from her so that he could look at her, although one of his hands still traced circles on her lower abdomen. "Malcolm can't join in. I won't allow it."

"He's just through that wall," Ruth whispered, pointing to the wall which separated the two bedrooms.

"And that wall is at least six inches thick."

"But Harry, I heard you that night you were calling out for me in your dream, and I was in that same room."

"I seem to remember I was screaming for you. Unless you are in a screaming mood, Ruth, I think we'll be fine."

Ruth made to punch his shoulder, but he grabbed her hand and began kissing the inside of her arm, his tongue circling her skin. She lay back on the bed and sighed. Harry had magic hands …... and magic lips …... and a magic tongue …... _God_, he was good! "I just hope that if he hears us, Malcolm won't be embarrassed," she managed to say, before he lifted himself above her, taking his weight on his elbows. He leaned into her and kissed her deeply, while at the same time he allowed his erection to nestle between her legs, gently rubbing back and forth across her wetness, encouraging her to part her legs.

"I guess it's too late for me to be saying no," she gasped when he lifted is mouth from hers.

"Do you want to say no, Ruth?"

She very slowly shook her head, grasping his buttocks in her hands, and pulling him towards her. As he entered her, she gasped again – quite loudly – and Harry smiled and put a finger over her lips. He then began moving inside her, slowly at first, until their bodies took up the natural rhythm, leaving them to wash in the sensations. This was only one way in which they expressed their love for one another, but it was such a _good_ way. He leaned his face down to her and took a nipple between his teeth. The flick of his tongue across her nipple sent her body into spasms which heralded her own climax. He followed soon after, allowing himself to let go completely, losing himself in her.

Unknown to Harry and Ruth, they both breathed heavily during their lovemaking, and unconsciously emitted loud gasps as they came. Next door, Malcolm was already awake, sensing some movement from their room. He heard their gasps of pleasure, and smiled to himself. He would have been surprised had they not found it necessary to make love at some time while he was visiting. Whilst he envied them, he was also happy for them. He had been there, somewhere in the background, throughout much of their relationship, and he believed they deserved all the pleasure and happiness they could find together. Besides, he was certain Harry would be much calmer, less moody now he and Ruth were close, and that would make life on the Grid easier for everyone.

Malcolm rose from the bed, donned his bathrobe, and crossed the landing to the bathroom. He figured he had a spare half hour to shower while his hosts lay in post-coital bliss. He would keep his poker face, giving away nothing. He could only imagine Ruth's embarrassment if she knew he had heard them.

By the time Harry and Ruth came downstairs, they were greeted by Malcolm sitting at the table tucking into his breakfast. "Pancakes?" he said, indicating the pile of cooked pancakes on a plate in the middle of the table.

"You've made enough for an army, Malcolm," observed Harry.

"I thought you might require some sustenance, Harry," Malcolm replied, to which Harry looked up sharply, wondering just how much Malcolm had overheard. "It's all this outdoorsy stuff you do. All that climbing and rambling and everything. You need to keep your strength up."

The three of them sat in a comfortable silence as they ate. Harry and Ruth knew that Malcolm had overheard them, but being the gentleman he was, he would never say anything. This would be another spooks' secret about which the three of them would never speak.


	11. Chapter 11

_North Yorkshire cottage – 12 days later, and 26 days after Harry had reunited with Ruth – 7.20 am:_

Harry awoke to an empty bed. Imagining Ruth may have gone to the loo and would soon be back, he waited for her. And waited. After twenty minutes of waiting, he slipped into his bathrobe to cover his nakedness and went downstairs. He found Ruth curled up on the sofa amongst a tumble of cushions, her feet tucked under her. Like him, she wore only a robe. She seemed preoccupied, so he let her be. The combustion stove had not yet been lit, leaving a chill in the room. Despite this, both Scarlet and Fidget had settled together on the hearth. Harry busied himself lighting the stove, and stacking logs against one against the other so that they would eventually catch and burn. When he'd finished, he stroked Fidget's fur, scratched Scarlet's ears, then washed his hands over the kitchen sink before he joined Ruth. Looking at her more closely, he noticed that she had drawn one of the cushions close to her and hugged it to her like she'd been thrown into the ocean and it was her lifebuoy.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" he asked, as he sat next to her, but not close enough to be touching her.

Ruth turned her head to look at him, and he could see the redness from tears already shed. Her face showed that look he had once known all too well - the look of struggle and trouble and pain and indecision. "Harry, what have we _done_?" she said, somewhat cryptically.

"But Ruth, I thought you were happy. What's happened? Tell me." _So I can fix it_, was his unspoken thought. He glanced around, checking that there were no newspapers or phones, or notes under the door.

"I _am_ happy. That's the problem."

"But how can being happy make you cry, sweetheart?" Privately, he wondered if she was pre-menstrual, but he dare not mention it, not if he valued his balls.

That is when she turned her body to face him, putting aside the cushion she'd been holding. "Can't you see, Harry? Being happy puts us at risk."

"I know that. But we've talked about this. We agreed that being together like we are is a position of strength for us. Anyone who wants to get at me – or you - will try anyway. If we're together under the same roof, we're safer."

"That's not all. When I was in exile, how was it for you?"

"It was hell, Ruth. I didn't know whether you were alive or dead. I didn't know where you were, whether you were healthy, happy, safe, or whether you may have met another man. I was constantly worried for you. And I missed you. I won't do that again, no matter what happens."

"I missed you too, Harry. I can't help but think that us having this much happiness will have a price ….. somewhere down the track." Her eyes again shimmered with unshed tears. Harry moved closer to her, and she allowed him to draw her to him.

"Is that what's troubling you, Ruth? Because you and I both know that we make our own happiness, and the only price we pay is the commitment we have to being together always, and believe me, that will be hard work, no matter how much we love one another. Don't you think that being apart for so long was price enough? If dues are to be paid, then from where I'm sitting ours have been paid in full."

For a long while, Ruth said nothing more. He held her with both arms, and she nestled against his chest, the place in the world where she felt safest. They both knew that such luxuries as early-morning cuddling would be rare once they returned to the Grid. After some time, she again spoke, but this time without the high emotion of her earlier outbursts. "I'm quite afraid of going back home and back to work," she said at last. "I'm afraid we'll drift apart."

"Because of work?"

"Because of work. We used to misunderstand one another so much, Harry."

"This time will be different. We'll be together in the evenings, and we'll be sleeping in the same bed, like we are now. There'll be time for talking things through."

"But what if one of us dies, Harry? I don't think I could bear living without you if you died, and I'd hate to die myself and leave you all alone. I don't think you'd cope very well with losing me again."

Harry kissed the top of her head. "And what if we grow old together? What then? What if you're so scared of what might happen to us that you don't fully enjoy what we have _now_? That would be a bigger tragedy, don't you think?"

Ruth nodded. He was right, of course. She knew he'd help her see things clearly. She snuggled closer to him, slipping her arms round him beneath his bathrobe. Without giving it much thought, she found her hands wandering over Harry's bare skin until she reached his lower back, where his buttocks began to rise.

"Ruth," Harry said quietly, his lips close to her ear, "your hands are turning me on. Is that what you want?"

"Why wouldn't I want you? I'll always want you."

He pulled away from her so that he could look at her. "I don't want us to get in the habit of using sex as a distraction from the real issues. It might make us feel good, but we run the risk of never getting to the core of what bothers us."

Ruth took her hands away from Harry's body, and let them rest in her lap.

"I'm not rejecting you, Ruth," he continued. "What red-blooded man wouldn't want your hands on his skin? I just think it's more important that we get to the bottom of why being with me scares you so much. Why are you so afraid of being in a committed relationship with me? I can't wait to live with you, to love you, perhaps to marry you some day …... when you're ready. I've waited a long time to be with you, Ruth. I'm not about to walk away from this."

Ruth sat back against the sofa, her legs curled under her. He thought she looked about fourteen – scared and vulnerable. Her sadness hurt him deeply. He had only ever wanted to make her happy. He watched her in silence until she spoke.

"I've always wanted this, Harry," she began, her voice quiet. "For almost as long as I've known you. And I want all the same things you do – a life spent with you, living together, sleeping together, marriage, perhaps children some day. Wanting something so much is dangerous for me. It's like …... with the wanting comes a kind of …... opposing force, where …... what I want immediately disappears from before my eyes. It dissolves."

"Is that the real reason you turned down my second dinner invitation?"

It was then that she looked at him, her face sad, but her eyes clear. "Yes," she said, almost inaudibly. "Yes, that's the real reason. We had such a good time when we went to dinner together. It was wonderful, so much better than I'd expected. I hadn't expected we'd have so much in common. I knew you'd somehow be taken from me …... or go off me."

"So all that about people talking about us …... the fear of humiliation …..."

"That was real for me, too, but it was also an excuse. That isn't really the reason I'm scared now. I've gone past worrying what others think. I hate it that I think like this, but I do. Every time something good, something wonderful happens in my life, I wait in dread for it to be taken from me."

"Do you think," he said carefully, aware that he was about to tread on delicate territory, "do you think that maybe you chose to go into exile _because_ we were getting closer?"

"I hadn't thought of it that way, but …... you're probably right."

"So," he continued, "you _chose_ to be away from me – perhaps for years – rather than being with me. You chose sadness and loneliness over risking getting closer to me."

"Put like that, it sounds quite …..."

"Self-defeating, Ruth."

"I wouldn't blame you were you to say it sounds insane."

"No, I wouldn't call it that. It's how you protect yourself. It sounds almost like you can't accept happiness in any form. I just want to make you happy …... and to keep you safe. It's a bit hard to do if you keep working against it."

Harry knew that he had to acknowledge this side of Ruth's personality. Perhaps it was as a result of her father dying when she was so young, but he wasn't about to open that door; he'd wait for her to lead the way into any discussion about her father. He loved her as she was, not as he wanted her to be. She was the woman he loved and had _chosen_ to commit himself to for life, and he had to accept that there would be times like this. He drew her face around to look at him, as he leaned towards her.

"Ruth," he said, "I'm not God. I can't guarantee anything, but I can try to make our lives as safe and secure as possible. I'm sure that I can guarantee that I'll love you for the rest of my life, no matter what happens. And should we be blessed with children, then I'll do everything in my power to keep all of you safe."

"I know," she said. "I'm just being silly. I didn't want you to know I felt this way, which is why I came downstairs."

"I'm glad you told me. We have to be honest with one another." He drew her into a soft kiss before he continued. "Ruth, there will be times when we'll be scared of losing one another. Every time I see another man look at you with appreciation I want to kill him with my bare hands."

"But men don't look at me in appreciation Harry - other than you, of course."

"Sweetheart, believe me, they do, and my worst nightmare is you going off with one of them when you realise I'm too old for you, and that you're ready to update to a newer model."

Ruth smiled, the first smile he'd seen from her that day. "That's a ridiculous idea! As if I'd want anyone other than you. You must be out of your mind, Harry."

"I am." He leaned across to kiss her, and this time the kiss became something else. "Upstairs?" he said, and she nodded.

* * *

_North Yorkshire cottage – 7 days later, and 33 days after Harry had reunited with Ruth – 8.41 pm:_

"It's not too late to change your mind, Ruth. I'm sure we can find a pub in Whitby with good food and a spare table for two with a view of the harbour lights."

"This is our last night in this cottage, Harry. I'd rather spend it here – alone with you - even if we only have eggs for dinner." Ruth looked wistfully into the fire and sighed.

"I know you'd rather we stay cocooned here forever, Ruth, but Real Life calls."

"I know. I know." She turned her body slightly so that she could lean into Harry. He responded by putting his arm around her shoulders and drawing her close to him. He was going to miss this cottage, this room, this sofa on which they'd so often sat together and exchanged secrets and intimacies, the stuff of lovers who are discovering what is hidden beneath and behind that which takes their breath away. They had each shared parts of themselves with the other, secrets they'd never told another living soul. They would never forget the five weeks they'd spent in this place so far distant from their normal lives. It had been during those five weeks that their lives had changed, and their life-long love affair had been born.

They went about their evening as they usually did, but both knew that everything would change once they were back in Harry's house in London. More than that, once they began work the following week, there was the risk that they would immediately drift apart, the nature of their work sucking the love and compassion from them as surely as it had those who had gone before them. As they prepared to retire for the night, they both knew that once they were upstairs in their bed they would make love. After Harry had secured all the doors and windows, he led Ruth upstairs, her hand in his.

They undressed slowly, almost reluctantly, and slid under the duvet naked. Harry was already partly aroused, the promise of sex being enough to stir him. Ruth silently thanked whatever gods were responsible for him having retained his healthy libido into middle age, and hopefully beyond. The only concession they'd had to make to his age was that his recovery time was not as it had been when he was younger. Once under the duvet they drew together to hold one another. They stayed that way for a long time, no words being necessary.

It was Ruth who reached up to kiss him on the mouth, and so the dance began. They took their time, knowing that this was to be their last night in this bed, the same bed in which they had made love for the first time. They lay side-by-side facing one another, and when it was time to come together, Ruth slipped a leg over his hip to bring him closer to her, close enough for penetration. Their eyes never left the other as he began to move inside her. "I love it when you're inside me," she said quietly, and her words left him feeling too emotional to offer a reply. He gazed into her eyes, and his own eyes said everything his voice could not. He felt strong on this night, like he could last a very long time, taking her to climax again and again. She deserved this from him. It would be his gift to her.

While moving slowly and steadily inside her, he leaned towards her and kissed her deeply, their mouths open and eager to give and receive. While he thrust his tongue against hers, his fingers vibrated against her clitoris, resulting in the first of her climaxes. She experienced two more in quick succession before he felt himself reaching a level of excitement that he'd only rarely felt in his life, and then not since he'd been young and virile. He stopped moving for a time while he deepened their kiss, then moved his mouth along her cheek to her ear, where he whispered his love for her, telling her over and again how he loved her, worshipped her, and longed for her. It was only when he again began moving inside her that they – together – increased speed, and brought about his climax.

Fully exhausted, as it had been an emotional day and evening, they fell asleep still joined.


	12. Chapter 12

_**A/N: As much as I love her as a character, I have chosen to leave Connie James out of this altogether... to pretend she never existed. Thus, Malcolm has been working as senior analyst, with assistance from Trent Devereaux. The plot is little more than wallpaper.**_

_**This is the penultimate chapter of this fic.**_

* * *

_London; The Grid – 3 days later – 7.48 am:_

Ruth had been welcomed with hugs from Adam, Malcolm, and last of all Jo, when she looked up towards where she knew Harry would be watching her. Even though he was inside his office, she could see his smile. She wondered how long it would be before that smile became a scowl. He was only a few metres from her desk, but to her he may as well have been on the other side of the country, so far away did he seem, separated from her by that wall of glass. For the past five weeks they had been together day and night, most often within touching distance, and frequently so close they were as one person. Now here they were, thrust back into the everyday, the unpredictable, the non-personal environment of their work. Ruth felt more than a little sad. She had no idea when she and Harry would again be free to share the long days and nights of intimacy they had had in North Yorkshire.

"Good to see you back, Ruth," she heard Ros say as she walked past on her way to her own desk. Ruth had been dreading the possibility of receiving a hug from Ros, but what was she thinking? Ros was not the hugging kind, and were she being honest, she'd sooner be hugged by Osama Bin Laden.

The phone on Ruth's desk rang, so she picked it up. "I have something for you," Harry said. She again looked up at him in his office, and he held up a manilla folder for her to see.

She entered his office without knocking, and received the folder he proffered. "This is yours," he said. She opened it to find all the documents she'd need to continue her life as Ruth Evershed.

"Thank you, Harry," she said, her emotion close to the surface.

"No need to thank me," he said. "Eve Cunningham is the one who arranged it. Normally, a reinstatement of identity can take anything up to eight months." He watched her as her eyes scanned each document and checked for correct date of birth and spelling of her name. She also noticed that her home address was listed as being the same as Harry's. _Presumptuos as usual, _she thought,_ but also accurate._ "Maybe we should do something further about your name," Harry added. "Unless you're especially attached to your surname, how does Ruth Pearce sound to you?"

Ruth looked up at him, surprise in her eyes. "Harry …... is this …... a _proposal_?"

"Yes. I suppose it is."

"You could have chosen a different time and place."

"Yes, I know. My office at 8 o'clock on a Monday morning isn't the most romantic of venues, but it seemed right somehow …... seeing that you have received official documentation that you're alive."

"I miss our wedding rings," was all she could say. He knew her answer was in there somewhere. They had removed their wedding rings – the rings of their legends, Melanie and Richard Glover – and had deliberately left them home on the table beside Harry's bed, which was now her bed also. To have continued wearing them on the Grid would have attracted far too much attention, which was the last thing they wanted.

Ros suddenly burst into Harry's office. "We need a team meeting, Harry. There's lots of juicy stuff you both need to catch up on. Iran's nuclear capability being numero uno on the agenda."

Ros turned on her heels and left the office. Ruth looked at Harry, who raised his eyebrows. She mouthed the word _Yes_ to him, and in reply his face broke into a wide smile, and he mouthed _I love you_.

The members of Section D entered the meeting room and seated themselves around the table. Harry sat at the head of the table, as he always had, and Ros sat to his right, and Ruth to his left.

Ros began her summary. "We have issues with Bob Hogan, Harry. Adam and Jo have received information from him which does not sit with information which we have ourselves gathered."

"Bob Hogan has been an ally of ours for some time," Harry reminded her.

"He stopped being that some time ago. Just ask Adam."

There was bad news and more bad news. _But when wasn't there?_ thought Harry, privately wishing he and Ruth had spent an extra week or two in North Yorkshire. He was getting too old for this. Suddenly he longed to be rambling on the North Yorkshire moor. He didn't care if it was pissing down with rain, it had to be better than this. It was then that Harry admitted to himself that while he and Ruth had lived together in the cottage, he'd grown accustomed to being happy, and it had fitted him. He'd previously believed that without the aid of copious amounts of alcohol he was incapable of happiness. He now knew differently.

* * *

Ruth spent the day examining the intelligence analyses of Trent Devereaux, who was to have started working at Six that same morning. He was a mathematical, rather than a language analyst, so much of his analysis had made tedious reading. Given her propensity with language, she was able to glean more information than Trent had gathered in relation to the CIA involvement in Iran gaining nuclear capability. She then filed her own report, and just after 6 o'clock in the evening she handed it to Harry.

"More trouble with the cousins," she said, as she placed her report on the edge of his desk.

"Oh?"

"It's not only Bob Hogan you have to keep your eye on. I'd be looking further up the line within the hierarchy of the CIA itself. I think that corruption and betrayal runs deep in that organisation. In fact, anyone from the CIA needs to be treated with suspicion. Just my opinion."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers and closed his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. Ruth knew that gesture. He was stressed and upset.

"There's another thing that the-amazing-Trent missed. One name cropped up three times. Once is note-worthy, twice requires attention, but three times is a red flag. Yusuf Kassar, aged twenty nine. Pakistani nationality, but of Turkish heritage. I've looked up what we have on him. Educated in Karachi and then Durham. He finished his doctorate in nuclear physics at Columbia in New York."

"So he's bright."

"Very. And he's working for the Americans. My instinct is that he's actually working for someone else."

"Any idea who?"

"It would have to be a rogue outfit. One with no real borders or national identity. I think this is to do with the cracks in the CIA."

"Thanks, Ruth. That's good work, as usual. I'll get Malcolm to follow up on this."

Ruth sighed heavily. All she wanted to do was to go home and have Harry to herself for a few hours. "It's always going to be like this, isn't it?" she said.

"Probably," Harry replied. "Unless we both retire early. I can feel retirement knocking at my door as we speak. Now I've had a taste of retirement with you, I don't want to let it go."

Ruth looked at him for a time without speaking.

"What?" he said, standing up and taking a few steps towards her.

"What you said this morning, in here."

"About wanting to marry you? Yes, of course I was serious. It can't have been a surprise, surely."

"Not really, no. You sprung it on me, though. I wasn't expecting it so soon, and certainly not like that."

"No sense in burning daylight, Ruth. Is the answer still yes?" He smiled at her and took another step towards her, now close enough that she felt his breath on her cheek. They were the last two people left on the Grid.

"Yes, of course it is." She reached up and kissed him, her hands on his cheeks, but before she could pull away, he'd put his arms around her, and drawn her close, and deepened the kiss. "Harry," she said after a while. "I thought we agreed to keep it professional while we're at work."

"It's not every day you and I become engaged, Ruth. This is something of a special occasion."

Ruth kissed him quickly, and then pulled herself out of his embrace as she turned to leave the office. "The others have retired to the George. I told them you and I were tired and needed an early night. I don't think I was very convincing. The look on Jo's face told me that she believed we'd be going home to have frantic and very noisy and athletic sex." She rolled her eyes.

"Then we mustn't let her down, must we?" said Harry, grinning at her, his private thoughts already X-rated.

* * *

They were both relieved to be home under their own roof.

"How do you think the rest of the section feels about us being together, Harry?" Ruth asked, sitting down to the meal of apricot chicken and rice Harry had cooked while she was in the bath.

"I think it's a fair bet they're all relieved."

"Relieved? Why?"

"Because we've taken so long to get this far, Ruth. I still think that Malcolm and Adam planned the whole getting you out of Europe …... complete to having us staying in the cottage on our own for as long as it took to work ourselves out. I think that they feel that you and I having regular sex will make me easier to work with." Harry looked across the table at Ruth with a small smile on his face.

"Oh, I think they care about us more than that, Harry. I'd like to think that they want both of us to be happy, and with no ulterior motives." She again looked up at his beautiful face, the last thing she sees before she falls asleep each night. "It has made you calmer, Harry, so they're not far off the mark. In a way, it worked." With her fork, Ruth scraped together the rice on her plate. "Jo told me that she thinks we even _look_ different. You certainly do."

"How so?"

"You look much more relaxed, Harry."

"That's such a cliché."

"I know, but in your case, it's also true. What would they have said had they known about your strange marriage proposal?"

"So it's strange now, is it?"

"Over the years, I had occasionally thought about you asking me to marry you. Mostly, I saw us sitting on the bench on the embankment, or walking together somewhere – like a park, or a beach – or sometimes I thought it would be nice were you to ask me while we were in bed together." He lifted his eyebrows at that. "Never in any of my fantasies did you propose to me in your office on the Grid ….. and just before a staff meeting, too."

"Not romantic, I know, but practical."

"Practical?"

"You could hardly have stormed out on me. Not without attracting unwanted attention."

"Oh Harry, you must have known I'd say yes."

"I hoped you might, but …..."

They looked across the table at one another for a long time.

"You make me a better man, Ruth," he said quietly.

She smiled at his compliment. "No Harry, I just guide you to recognising the gentler parts of yourself. You already are a better man."

He gazed at her in much the same way he'd been gazing across the Grid at her for years. He could not imagine his life without her in it. "I wish we'd met years ago," he said, suddenly looking down at his plate, uncharacteristically embarrassed at this sentiment. "I wish I was younger, is what I'm trying to say."

Ruth reached across and covered his hand with her own. "I'm not sure I would have fallen for the younger Harry. Besides which, you've had all those life experiences with other women, so I'm getting the gentler, mellower you. I wouldn't have it any other way. I love the person you are now. And you're fantastic in bed. I'd never known sex could be such fun." She dropped her eyelashes as she said that. "The younger Harry probably felt he had something to prove."

"You're probably right. I wasn't the nicest person when I was younger, and I treated women rather badly." He sat back and looked directly at her. "On reflection, had I met you when I was younger, I'd have messed up my relationship with you, hurt you deeply, turned you against me, and died a lonely and bitter old man. As it is now ….."

"It's just as it should be, Harry. We have each other, it's beautiful, and we have to make the most of it. I can't wait to spend my life with you …... just as you are."

"Ruth, I want you to promise me something. If you ever feel that I'm taking you for granted, or not taking you seriously, then let me know, and make sure I get the message. I couldn't bear to lose you again." His eyes looked troubled. "It's so easy to simply allow a relationship, even one as enduring and solid as we have, to drift into complacency. We mustn't allow that to happen to us."

During the final days they'd spent in the cottage, they had made a pact that they would never again live apart. It had been so easy to agree to that while they were together day and night. Now they were back at work, there would likely be times when to be together each night would be difficult, even impossible. Their work was a lonely existence; neither of their jobs invited intimacy with another. They each feared that the one thing they both needed, even craved – the togetherness with the other – would be the hardest goal to achieve while they both still worked.

He stood up, pushing back his chair, and walked around to her, holding out his hand. Her hand in his, he lifted her out of her chair and drew her into his arms. "Bed?" he suggested, his mouth close to her ear, and she nodded.


	13. Epilogue

_**A/N: This is the final chapter of this fic.**_

_**Thank you to everyone who has read it, and a special thank you to the kind reviewers.**_

* * *

_London; the Grid – 12 weeks later. Monday morning – 9.08 am:_

Harry was well into his report to his team, updating them on the situation with Yalta. Ruth had already given her report on the latest intel on Yusuf Kassar, whose considerable skills and abilities were being put to use in designing a bomb which would simultaneously, from one detonator, remotely take out anything up to six different targets. MI5 were keeping close watch on this man. It was when Harry shuffled together the papers in front of him that Jo noticed the glint from the overhead lights catch something bright and shiny on his finger – the third finger on his left hand, to be exact. She held her breath as she checked out the same finger on Ruth's hand, and found a matching shining gold band on her finger. "You cagey sods," she said, although she hadn't meant to say the words aloud.

"Do you have something of import to share?" Harry asked, glaring right at her.

"No, Harry. Sorry, I was thinking aloud." She looked around at the others sitting at the table before she continued. "Perhaps you should also have announced that you and Ruth are married …... just so we all knew. You know, just in case one of us tries to hook one of you up with someone …... that could be …... er …... embarrassing."

Taken off-guard, Harry turned his left hand so that his wedding ring was visible to all. He looked across the table to Ruth, who smiled at him, her face telling him that she was not about to bail him out of this one.

"To those of you who don't already know …..Ruth and I married on the weekend. On Friday evening, to be exact. Now, if there's nothing else, I suggest that we all have plenty to keep us busy." His words were the cue for everyone to leave the room. He nodded only slightly to acknowledge the murmurs of congratulations. Eventually, only he and Ruth remained. They gazed at one another across the table. For a moment, they were not at work, but were looking at one another with longing, anticipating what might occur once they had climbed the stairs to bed.

* * *

They had left London at lunchtime on the previous Friday. Only Malcolm had known about their plans, chiefly because he'd made the bulk of the arrangements on their behalf. The remainder of the team believed that Harry had had an afternoon meeting at Whitehall, and Ruth had left for the day to meet one of her assets.

They married at 7 pm on the Friday evening in the living room of the cottage in North Yorkshire, the fire in the combustion stove burning brightly, providing not only warmth, but casting a golden glow throughout the room. Malcolm had arranged the celebrant – a cousin of his former asset who worked at _Harry's Lounge Bar & Brasserie_ - and the other witness to their union, Kerry Dolling, wife of Rex. It took some explaining on Malcolm's part when Rex and Kerry found out that Harry and Ruth had not been married all along. "But they acted just like they were married," was all Rex could say. "They even wore wedding rings." The wedding party consisted of Harry and Ruth, Kerry and Rex, and Malcolm. It was intimate, and exactly what the bride and groom wanted. In the photographs taken by Malcolm, they looked as though they'd temporarily stepped into another world, Ruth in her blue dress which clung to her curves and fell from her hips to just below her knees, and Harry in dark pants and matching blue shirt with gold cufflinks. When Harry had responded to the celebrant's prompt that he kiss the bride, Malcolm had let out an inaudible sigh, more of a body sigh of relief, almost forgetting to capture the moment with his camera.

A January wedding may not be every bride's dream, but these two were not like other people. They ran their personal lives according to some hidden inner rhythm, as though they were dancing to a tune only they could hear. Malcolm had never seen his two friends happier than they were on the day they'd married. After the five of them shared a meal at _Harry's Brasserie_, Malcolm stayed overnight in a hotel in Whitby, and drove back to London in the morning. This time he wouldn't be asked to stay over. The bride and groom spent the two nights after their wedding exactly as they wanted to – alone in the cottage in North Yorkshire. They slept in the bed in which they'd first made love, and then drove back to London on Sunday evening, reluctantly leaving behind their sanctuary, but planning to visit it again soon.

* * *

After the meeting, everyone other than Ruth and Harry left the meeting room. As the door swung shut, Harry turned to his wife of just sixty two hours.

"Do you think I should have said something earlier?" he asked her. "They all seemed a bit put out."

"I was sure they'd all see it on our faces as soon as we arrived this morning," she smiled at him. "And these rings – one on your finger, and a matching one on mine – are something of a give-away, wouldn't you say?"

"But I tried to act as normally as possible," he said. "I didn't want our marriage to become a circus exhibit. It means too much to us to risk that. I thought the right thing to do was to say nothing at all."

"Darling, I know, and I agree with you, but I would have been surprised had we managed to get away with it completely. You know how nosy Jo and Adam can be."

They both rose from their seats, and closed the gap between them. Ruth reached her hand to his face, and stroked his cheek with her thumb, while he rested his hands on her waist. She knew she would never tire of looking into those eyes, of caressing his skin. Harry leaned towards her and gently kissed her mouth. "Let's hope they don't insist on us having drinks after work to celebrate. I was rather hoping we could get home at a decent hour and do some celebrating of our own."

Harry drew his face away from her, and Ruth reached out to him and caught his hand in her own, and ran her thumb along the finger on which he wore his ring. She looked at the ring on his finger, internally shaking her head, almost in disbelief that they had travelled this far together. She wondered how she and Harry had managed to successfully negotiate all the obstacles and blocks which had always seemed to prevent them getting close to one another. There had been a dream-like quality to their wedding, and every moment since had had her pinching herself to ensure she was actually here, and that Harry was now her husband. It was going to take some getting used to.

"I'd really like to go home now," Ruth whispered, "but I suppose that 9.35 am is considered too early to be leaving for the day."

Harry put his arms around her and pulled her close to him. "Your husband would be happy to leave early with you, but your boss wouldn't allow it," he said. "I hear he's a slave driver."

He rested his chin on her head, and momentarily closed his eyes, knowing that moments like this will be rare, so it was best they take them while they were there to be had. He pulled away and reached down to put his lips to hers, and as their lips met, they heard a loud knock on the door.

"Sorry to do this to you guys," Adam's voice, muffled by the door, drifted through to them, "but the Home Secretary is on the phone, and wants to talk to you, Harry. Sorry."

Harry and Ruth drew apart, but their hands were still linked, as they looked at one another before the day began in earnest. "We are going to have to get used to this," Ruth said, "or else retire. We do have a choice, Harry."

"I know we do."

With that they were suddenly thrust back into the present by Ros and Adam arguing outside the door.

"What gives them the right to a private snogging session?" Ros said, not attempting to lower her voice. "Just because they now have rings on their fingers …."

"Just …... that's enough …... you …... can't ….. jealous," were the only words of Adam's which made it through the door, as he tried to keep his voice down.

"We're on our way!" Harry called out, then kissed his wife again, a soft kiss of love and promise, before he turned towards the door and by opening it, allowed the outside world in.

* * *

_**A/N: I became quite fond of the H & R in this fic, so I have now decided that this fic is to be Part 1 of a trilogy. The next part – called "A Most Ordinary Miracle" – will be up in the next few days.**_


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